GIVES 

OWEN  JOHNSON 


Lawrenceville  Stories 
THE  PRODIGIOUS  HICKEY 
THE  VARMINT 

THE  TENNESSEE  SHAD 

THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 
THE  WOMAN  GIVES 


In  the  subdued  torment  on  his   face  there  was  a  sudden 

flickering  passage  of  absolute  terror. 

FRONTISPIECE.     See  page  175. 


THE    WOMAN 
GIVES 

A  STORY  OF  REGENERATION 


BY 
OWEN    JOHNSON 

WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS  BY 
HOWARD   CHANDLER  CHRISTY 


BOSTON 
LITTLE,    BROWN,    AND    COMPANY 

1916 


Copyright,  1916, 
BY  OWEN  JOHNSON. 

All  rights  reserved 
Published,  September,  1916 


THE   COLONIAL  PRESS 
C.   H.    SIMONDS   CO.,   BOSTON,    U.  S.  A. 


LIST  OF   ILLUSTRATIONS 


IN  THE  SUBDUED  TORMENT  ON  HIS  FACE  THERE 
WAS    A    SUDDEN     FLICKERING    PASSAGE    OF 

ABSOLUTE  TERROR  ....    Frontispiece 

IT    NEVER     OCCURRED    TO     KlNG     O'LEARY     TO 

ASK    WHAT     SHE    INTENDED     TO    DO  ..  Page    69 

"  FRIENDSHIP  !  "  SHE  SAID  SCORNFULLY,  WITH 
A  QUICK  BREATH,  "  A  LOT  OF  FRIENDSHIP 

THERE   WAS   IN    THAT !  "  .  .  "        JOQ 

*''  THERE  ! "   HE  GAVE  THEM   A  SIGNAL,  AND 

STOOD    OFF    GRINNING,    HIS    HEAD    ON    ONE 

SIDE,       CONTEMPLATIVELY,       AS       THEY 

CROWDED  ABOUT  THE  COMPOSITION  .  149 

THEN  SHE  DELIBERATELY  TORE  IT  INTO  PIECES          "      276 

"  MY  HAT  AND  MY  CANE  !  "  EXCLAIMED  "  THE 

BARON"       ........  "     316 


9128^2 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

TEAGAN'S  ARCADE  stood,  and  in  the  slow  upward  prog 
ress  of  the  city  it  may  still  stand,  at  that  intersection  of 
Broadway  and  Columbus  Avenue,  where  the  grumbling 
subway  and  the  roaring  elevated  meet  at  Lincoln  Square. 
It  covered  a  block,  bisected  by  an  arcade  and  rising  six 
capacious  stories  in  the  form  of  an  enormous  H.  On 
Broadway,  the  glass  front  was  given  over  to  shops  and 
offices  of  all  descriptions,  while  in  the  back  stretches  of 
the  top  stories,  artists,  sculptors,  students,  and  illustrators 
had  their  studios  alongside  of  mediums,  dentists,  curious 
business  offices,  and  derelicts  of  all  description. 

The  square  was  a  churning  meeting  of  contending 
human  tides.  The  Italians  had  installed  their  fruit  shops 
and  their  groceries;  the  French  their  florists  and  their 
delicatessen  shops;  the  Jews  their  clothing  bazaars;  the 
Germans  their  jewelers  and  their  shoe  stores ;  the  Irish 
their  saloons  and  their  restaurants,  while  from  Healy's, 
one  of  the  most  remarkable  meeting-grounds  in  the  city, 
they  dominated  the  neighborhood. 

The  Arcade,  which  had  stood  like  a  great  glass  barn, 
waiting  the  inevitable  stone  advance  of  reconstruction, 
looked  down  on  this  rushing  stream  of  all  nations,  while 
occasionally  from  the  mixed  races  outside,  swimming  on 
the  current  of  the  avenue,  a  bit  of  human  debris  was 
washed  up  and  found  its  lodging.  It  was  a  bit  of  the 
Orient  —  the  flotsam  and  jetsam  of  Hong  Kong  and 
Singapore  in  the  heart  of  New  York.  It  was  a  place 
where  no  questions  were  asked  and  no  advice  permitted ; 
where  if  you  found  a  man  wandering  in  the  long,  drafty 


2  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

corridors  you  piloted  him  to  his  room  and  put  him  to  bed 
and  did  not  ^edt  to  reioirn  him  in  the  morning.  This 
was  its  etiquette.  There  were  the  young  and  unafraid, 
who  were  coming-  up  blithely,  and  the  old  and  tired,  who 
were  going  down,  and  it  was  understood  that  those  who 
were  bent  on  their  own  destruction  should  do  it  in  their 
own  chosen  way  —  a  place  wrhere  souls  in  hunger  and 
souls  in  despair  met  momentarily  and  passed. 

In  the  whole  city  there  was  not  such  another  incongru 
ous  gathering  of  activities.  There  was  a  vast  billiard- 
parlor  and  a  theater;  a  barber  shop  and  shoe  parlors;  a 
telegraph  station  and  an  ice-cream-and-candy  shop, 
thronged  at  the  luncheon  hour  with  crowds  of  school 
boys  ;  there  was  also  a  millinery  shop  and  one  for  fancy 
goods;  a  clock  maker,  and  two  corner  saloons.  Above, 
in  the  lower  lofts,  every  conceivable  human  oddity  was 
assembled  in  a  sort  of  mercantile  crazy  quilt.  One  read 
such  signs  as  these: 

WILLIE  GOLDMARK 
HIGH-ART  CLOTHING 

THE  GREAT  INTERNATIONAL  NOVELTY  CO 

UNCLE  PAUL'S  PAWN  SHOP 

You   CAN  PAWN   ANYTHING  FROM  A   SHOE-STRING  TO  A 
LOCOMOTIVE 

THE  PATENT  HORSESHOE  CO. 

THE  ROYAL  EUROPEAN  HAIR-DRESSING  PARLORS 
MARCEL-WAVING  TAUGHT  IN  TEN  LESSONS 

Besides  this,  there  were  offices  for  a  dozen  patent  medi 
cine  cures ;  a  notary  public  and  public  stenographers ; 
while  banjo  lessons,  instruction  in  illustration,  commercial 
.advertising  and  fancy  dancing  were  offered  on  every  floor. 
Higher  up,  on  the  fifth  and  particularly  on  the  sixth 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  3 

floor,  where  the  lofts  had  been  transformed  into  dwell 
ing-rooms  and  studios,  a  queer  collection  had  settled  and 
clung  tenaciously.  For  years,  oppressed  by  the  vastness 
and  gloom  of  the  reverberating  corridors,  they  had  gone 
on  living  solitary  lives,  barely  nodding  to  each  other,  as 
though  each  had  a  secret  to  bury  (which  indeed  was  often 
true),  and  they  might  have  continued  thus  indefinitely, 
had  it  not  been  for  two  events  —  the  accident  of  King 
O'Leary's  meeting  Tootles,  and  the  mystery  of  Danger- 
field's  coming  to  the  corner  studio  —  two  unifying  events 
that  brought  the  little  group  of  human  stragglers  on  the 
sixth  floor  into  a  curious  fraternity  that  persisted  for 
several  years,  and  was  fated  to  affect  several  destinies 
profoundly. 


IT  was  Christmas  Eve  in  Lincoln  Square.  A  fine  snow 
was  sifting  out  of  the  leaden  night,  coating  the  passers-by 
with  silver  but  dissolving  on  the  warm  asphalt  stretches 
in  long,  gleaming  lakes  where  a  thousand  reflections  quiv 
ered.  From  the  glowing  subway  entrances,  the  holiday 
crowds  surged  up,  laden  with  mysterious  packages,  scur 
rying  home  for  the  decking  out  of  tinseled  trees  and  the 
plotting  of  Christmas  surprises.  The  shop  windows 
flared  through  the  crowds  so  brightly  that  they  seemed  to 
have  brought  up  electric  reinforcements.  The  restau 
rants  were  crowded  with  brilliant  garlands  gay  with  red 
berries  and  festal  ribbons,  while  amid  the  turbulent  traffic 
of  the  avenues,  impudent  little  taxi-cabs  went  scooting 
merrily,  with  rich  glimpses  of  heaped-up  boxes  inside. 

At  Healy's,  under  the  strident  elevated  station,  a  few 
guests  were  entering  the  blazing  dining-rooms,  laughing 
and  expectant.  The  tension  of  the  city's  nerves  seemed 
everywhere  relaxed.  For  one  merry  hour  in  the  long, 
grinding  year,  united  in  the  unselfish  spirit  of  revelry, 
with  the  zest  of  secrets  to  be  guarded  and  secrets  to  be 
discovered,  the  metropolitan  crowd  bumped  good-humor- 
edly  on  its  way,  gay  with  the  democracy  of  good  cheer. 

King  O'Leary  left  the  throng  at  the  bar  at  Healy's, 
whistling  loudly  to  himself,  flung  a  half-dollar  to  the 
blind  news-dealer  under  the  elevated  steps,  calling  with 
gruff  gusto,  "  Merry  Christmas ! "  and,  resuming  his 
whistling,  crossed  the  square  to  where  Teagan's  Arcade 
rose  in  shanty  splendor,  six  stories  above  Broadway,  fill 
ing  the  block  with  its  flashing  electric  signs  which  hung 
against  the  night  like  so  much  cheap  jewelry. 


6  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

If  King  O'Leary  ccnti/iued  to  whistle  with  exaggerated 
gaiety,  tricking  himself  into  a  set  smile,  it  was  because 
deep  in  his  heart  he  felt  £he  irresistible  closing-in  of  his 
black  hour.  As  he  neared  the  glass  descent  into  the 
rumbling  underground,  a  flurried  eruption  of  parcel-laden 
crowds  whirled  momentarily  about  him,  wrapping  him 
around  with  youth,  laughter,  and  the  aroma  of  friendship 
and  affection.  Home!  He  felt  it  so  keenly;  he  saw  so 
clearly  rising  before  him  a  hundred  visions  of  family 
groups  gathered  in  the  warmth  of  cozy  houses,  he  felt  so 
out  of  it,  so  socially  excommunicated,  that  his  pretense  at 
gaiety  flattened  out.  He  shifted  the  soft-brimmed  hat 
over  his  eyes,  as  though  to  shut  out  memories,  turned  up 
the  collar  of  his  coat,  and,  digging  his  great  hands  into 
capacious  pockets,  swung  doggedly  on.  The  world  for 
this  one  night  had  run  away  from  him.  In  the  whole  city 
he  could  think  of  no  door  where  he  could  leave  a  present 
or  imagine  from  what  direction  one  might  descend  upon 
him.  With  the  exception  of  the  half-dollar  flung  to  the 
blind  news-dealer,  and  a  few  tips  jir.gling  in  his  pockets, 
his  Christmas  giving  was  over.  Twice  a  year,  in  his 
happy-go-lucky  existence,  rolling  down  incredible  avenues 
of  life  from  Singapore  to  Nome,  Alaska,  meeting  each 
day  with  unfailing  zest,  leader  and  boon  companion 
through  whatever  crowds  he  passed  —  twice  a  year,  at 
Christmas  and  on  a  certain  day  in  mid-April,  the  secret 
of  which  lay  buried  in  his  memory,  King  O'Leary  went 
down  into  the  dark  alleys  of  remembrance. 

He  entered  the  Arcade,  which  was  like  a  warm,  friendly 
furnace  after  the  wet,  shivering  snow  flurries,  transparent 
shops  on  either  side,  and  ahead  the  gleam  of  brass  rail 
ings  barring  the  entrance  to  the  vaudeville  theater,  whose 
evening  program  shrieked  at  him  from  colored  sheets  of 
mystery  and  guaranteed  thrills. 

''Lord,  but  this  is  awful!"  he  said  solemnly,  gazing 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  7 

absent-mindedly  into  the  glowing  tonsorial  parlors  in 
scribed  "  Joey  Shine."  "  Wish  to  the  deuce  I  could  think 
of  some  one  to  give  a  present  to !  " 

All  at  once  he  perceived  the  manicurist,  a  tall,  Amazon 
ian  young  lady,  with  reddish  hair  coiled  in  amazing 
tangles,  who  was  examining  him  with  friendly  curiosity. 
He  came  out  of  his  abstraction,  wondered  where  he  had 
seen  her,  half  smiled,  and  went  slowly  on  his  way  to  the 
elevator,  an  old-fashioned  vehicle,  which  came  settling 
down  like  an  ancient  barge. 

11  Merry  Christmas,  Mistah  O'Leary!  " 

"  Back  to  you,  Sam !  "  he  said,  dropping  a  dollar  in  the 
box  which  was  conspicuously  advertised.  And  he  added, 
"  Up  six." 

"  Thank  you,  sah;  thank  you!"  said  Sam,  whose  eye 
balls  rolled  whitely  at  the  magnificence  of  the  tip. 

The  twin  elevators  in  the  Arcade  were  sleepy  affairs, 
unoppressed  by  a  sense  of  time,  while  the  voyage  upward 
was  never  guaranteed.  They  were  large,  open,  cage-like 
affairs,  littered  with  announcements:  rooms  to  be  sublet 
or  to  be  shared ;  trousers  pressed  and  old  clothes  bought ; 
washing  cheaply  offered;  instruction  in  typewriting  and 
stenography ;  dental  parlors ;  the  future  foretold  and  con 
fidential  advice  given  at  reasonable  rates  by  Madame  Pro- 
basco  on  the  fifth  floor ;  while  only  temporarily  reversed, 
a  large  sign  announced : 

OUT  OF  ORDER 
TAKE  OTHER  ELEVATOR 

Sam  lingered  a  moment,  humming  sleepily,  as  though 
to  coax  forth  another  passenger  from  the  shadows.  This 
failing,  he  shuffled  out  for  a  languid  survey  of  the  Arcade. 

"  No  hurry  here,"  said  O'Leary,  yawning  indifferently 
and  settling  into  the  cushioned  chair  which  soothed  the 
attendant  in  his  weary  hours. 


8  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

Thus  encouraged,  Sam  lounged  away  for  a  final  recon- 
noitering,  slouched  back,  vacillated  a  moment  on  one  foot, 
and  had  his  hand  on  the  sliding  gate,  when  out  of  the  dusk 
came  a  hallo  in  a  high,  nasal  English  accent. 

"  I  say  there,  Sassafras,  my  man,  hold  him  in !  " 

Sam  began  laughing  immediately,  in  a  thin,  treble, 
body-shaking  laugh, 

"He-he-he,  Mr.  Kidder;  I  sartainly  knew  you  was 
coming  —  yassah !  " 

A  young  fellow,  barely  five  feet  six,  with  the  figure  of 
a  jockey,  hopped  into  the  car,  and,  seizing  the  regulator, 
rattled  off : 

"Cast  away  there!  Smartly  now,  my  man,  smartly! 
Take  in  your  spinnaker!  Ship  the  maintop-gallant 
sheets !  Douse  the  poop-deck !  Stand  by  the  battens !  " 

In  response  to  this  rapid  salvo,  the  elevator  began  to 
budge,  creaking  and  protesting,  rising  at  about  the  rate 
of  six  inches  a  second. 

"Do  you  think  we  can  make  it?"  said  Kidder,  with 
assumed  alarm.  "  How's  the  old  scow  to-night,  mate?  " 

"  Why,  most  surprisin'  well  —  yassah,  most  surprisin  V 

"  It's  a  stormy  night,  and  there's  a  bad  reef  above  the 
fourth.  Well,  mate,  we're  in  the  hands  of  Providence. 
It's  will  be  done!" 

All  at  once,  seeming  to  perceive  King  O'Leary  for  the 
first  time,  he  inquired  anxiously  : 

"  Excuse  me,  sir,  does  my  presence  at  the  helm  cause 
you  any  anxiety?  " 

"  Not  here,"  said  King  O'Leary,  who,  in  his  amuse 
ment,  had  been  tricked  out  of  his  glumness. 

"  What  floor  can  I  serve  you,  sir?  " 

"  The  sixth  will  be  about  right  for  me." 

"  Then  we  sink  or  swim,  survive  or  perish,  together !  " 

He  was  dapperly  dressed,  and  though  his  yellowish 
checks  were  evidently  ready-made,  they  were  squeezed  in 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  9 

at  the  waist  and  hoisted  over  the  ankles  in  the  latest  style. 
He  had  the  hatchet  face  of  the  clever  Yankee,  alert, 
sharply  defined,  with  a  high-bridged  and  rather  bold  Eng 
lish  nose. 

"  Youngster  looks  like  a  pocket  edition  of  the  Duke  of 
Wellington,"  thought  King  O'Leary,  registering  his 
favorable  impressions,  and,  before  the  other's  infectious 
spirits,  he  began  to  recover  his  natural  zest. 

Tootles  —  to  give  Mr.  St.  George  Kidder  at  once  his 
workaday  name  —  meanwhile  had  been  examining  his 
companion  with  the  impressionable  eye  of  the  artist.  He 
saw  the  bulky  body  of  a  man  approaching  middle  age,  yet 
full  of  rough,  brawny  substance  and  weather-tried  en 
durance.  The  great  half-moon  of  a  mouth  was  now  turn 
ing  up  in  its  usual  indomitable  attitude  toward  life  under 
the  broad-spaced,  jovial  nose  set  between  full  cheeks 
breaking  into  dimples.  Underneath  wisps  of  tawny  hair, 
rather  Mephistophelian,  were  clear-blue  eyes,  brilliant  and 
sharp  as  a  brigand's.  The  whole  had  a  combination  of 
companionable  good  humor,  and  instant  aggression  when 
necessary. 

"  Rather  a  rough  nun  in  case  of  a  scrap,  I  should 
fancy,"  thought  Tootles,  who  had  his  own  way  of  ex 
pressing  things.  "  However,  he  has  a  sense  of  humor  — 
of  my  humor  —  which  is  distinctly  in  his  favor." 

Suddenly  he  exclaimed  aloud : 

"Whoa  there!  All  hands  on  deck  stand  by  the  life 
boats!" 

The  elevator,  having  drifted  gradually  past  one  dark 
floor  after  the  other,  had  now  come  to  a  jolting  stop  be 
tween  the  third  and  the  fourth,  and  began  to  churn  up 
and  down  in  a  manner  distinctly  alarming. 

"  Sassafras,  you're  feeding  Tessie  too  much  red  meat," 
said  Tootles,  shifting  his  metaphors  as  Sam  came  to  the 
rescue. 


io  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

Another  moment  of  joggling  and  bucking,  and  the  ele 
vator,  as  though  too  weary  to  continue  its  exertions,  sud 
denly  glided  up  and  to  a  rest  at  the  sixth  floor. 

"  Whew !  My  eyes  and  whiskers !  "  exclaimed  Tootles, 
springing  out. 

He  turned  with  an  air  of  grave  solicitude. 

"  Sassafras,  I  do  believe  I  forgot  to  pay  the  chauffeur. 
Small  change,  you  know,  is  such  a  nuisance.  I'm  going 
to  let  you  be  my  banker  for  a  couple  of  days.  Give  him 
a  liberal  tip.  And  I  say,  when  the  florist  comes  in  the 
morning  with  my  bontonniere,  attend  to  that,  too,  will 
you?  Oh,  yes,  if  Mrs.  Van  Astorbilt  calls  again  this 
evening,  tell  her  I  have  gone  to  the  country  —  but  dis 
creetly,  Sassafras,  discreetly,  in  your  best  manner.  Re 
member  —  she  is  a  woman,  like  your  mother." 

The  sparkling  elevator  sagged  out  of  sight,  burying  in 
the  cavernous  shaft  the  body-shaking  peals  of  laughter, 
leaving  O'Leary  and  Tootles  moving  down  the  spacious, 
murky  corridor  of  the  sixth  floor  back.  There  was  a 
moment  of  silence,  each  rather  watching  the  other  out  of 
the  corner  of  his  eye,  and  then  Tootles  heaved  a  pro 
digious  sigh. 

"  Say,  this  is  a  hell  of  a  place  on  Christmas  eve,  isn't 
it?" 

"  Why,  boy,  I  didn't  know  it  hit  you  that  way,"  said 
King  O'Leary,  surprised. 

"  It  sure  does.  '  Christmas  comes  but  once  a  year, 
when  it  comes  it  brings  good  cheer ! '  Yes,  it  does ! 
Wish  I  could  sleep  it  over.  Ugh!  Well,  anyhow!  " 

He  stopped  at  the  door  which  bore  the  inscription : 

No  MODELS  WANTED. 

King  O'Leary  reluctantly  continued   farther  up  the 
bare  hallway  to  his  room. 
"  I  say,  o\er  there!  " 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  ir 

O'Leary  turned,  looking  back  at  Tootles,  who  stood 
dimly  revealed  in  the  light  of  the  half-open  door,  his  head 
on  one  side,  scratching  his  ear,  as  though,  by  some  in 
stinct,  he  had  divined  the  shadow  over  the  other  man's 
heart. 

"Well,  son,  what  is  it?  " 

"  Merry  Christmas,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  you 
know!"  ' 

"Oh,  sure  —  back  to  you.  Merry  Christmas?"  said 
the  other,  as  though  trying  it  on  his  ear,  and  a  loud  guf 
faw  followed.  "  Yes,  it'll  be  a  merry  Christmas  —  I 
think  — NOT!" 

King  O'Leary  turned  the  lock  and  flung  open  the  door 
on  the  dim  solitude  of  his  room.  Then  he  threw  on  the 
electric  light,  and  each  bare  detail  came  suddenly  out  — 
a  cot  with  the  cover  still  turned  down,  a  wash-stand,  and 
an  upright  piano  with  an  armchair  before  it,  turned  side 
ways,  so  that  he  could  avail  himself  of  the  height  of  the 
arm  when  he  played.  In  one  corner  was  a  low  hair  trunk, 
reenforced  with  leather  of  the  make  sailors  were  wont 
to  use. 

He  closed  the  door,  whistling  gloomily,  went  over  to 
the  piano  and  struck  a  few  aimless  chords. 

"  Anywhere  else  in  civilization,  Vladivostok,  Val 
paraiso,  or  Honolulu,  a  white  man  could  speak  to  another 
on  such  a  night  as  this ;  but  in  this  God-forsaken  wilder 
ness,  I  suppose  they'd  think  I  was  after  their  watch." 

He  turned  again  to  the  keyboard,  and,  playing  by  ear, 
with  a  truly  sensitive  touch,  ran  into  the  Fener  Motif  of 
"  Die  Walkiire." 

"  God,  that's  great  —  that  is  great!  "  he  said  solemnly. 
"  That  is  it  —  earth,  fire,  and  water !  " 

He  tried  another  start — shut  the  piano  viciously  and 
rose. 

"  Damn  New  York !  "  he  said,  with  his  nose  to  the  cur- 


12  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

tainless  window,  peering  out  at  the  opposite  side  of  the 
court,  with  its  chilly,  bare  outline.  "  Damn  New  York 
for  an  unfriendly  stuck-up  port,  anyhow!  Dozens  of 
poor  devils  sitting  around  nursing  their  misery  and  afraid 
to  say  hello  to  another  human  being.  Danged  if  I  don't 
try  it !  "  he  said,  all  at  once,  and,  slapping  on  his  hat,  he 
went  out  of  his  room  and  up  to  the  corner  studio,  near 
which  a  dozen  boxes  were  piled. 

"  I'll  try  each  in  turn,"  he  said  grimly,  and  knocked. 

But  a  moment's  pounding  convinced  him  that  the  studio 
was  unoccupied,  and  he  turned  to  the  opposite  room, 
which  lay  next  to  his,  and  rapped  on  it  as  though  to  sum 
mon  forth  a  spirit. 

The  door  was  presently  opened,  and  the  figure  of  a 
young  woman  appeared. 

"  My  name's  King  O'Leary,"  he  said  desperately,  tak 
ing  off  his  hat.  "  I'm  looking  for  some  mortal  being, 
man,  woman  or  child,  who's  as  plumb  lonely  as  I  am,  to 
go  out  and  help  me  through  this  night.  I'm  not  a  thug  or 
a  pickpocket,  and  I'm  not  fresh.  Anywhere  else  on  this 
blessed  globe  except  here,  people  would  understand  me. 
Well,  how  about  it?  I  suppose  you  think  I'm  crazy?" 

She  stood  a  little  defensively,  her  hands  behind  her 
back  in  an  attitude  which  seemed  to  bar  the  way  into  the 
studio,  which  lay  behind,  warm  and  inviting  with  the 
charm  her  feminine  touch  had  laid  over  its  crude  outlines, 
as  the  spreading  ivy  softens  the  ugliness  of  a  ruin.  Her 
hat  and  coat  were  on  a  near-by  chair,  as  though  she  were 
preparing  to  go  out.  Though  she  stood  against  the  light, 
he  was  struck  with  the  oddity  of  her  appearance  —  a  cer 
tain  defiant,  youthful  erectness  in  her  body,  the  depth  of 
darkness  that  lay  over  her,  in  the  black  of  her  hair,  which 
was  braided  and  coiled  about  her  forehead,  and  the  brown 
oval  of  the  face  —  brown  as  an  Indian's.  He  could  not 
see  the  eyes  for  the  moment. 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  13 

"  You're  in  the  room  next  to  me,  aren't  you  —  the  one 
who  was  playing?  "  she  said,  in  a  matter-of-fact  tone,  and 
her  voice  was  gutturally  pleasant,  so  different  from  the 
high-pitched  excitement  of  the  New  Yorker  that  he  stared 
at  her  in  surprise. 

"Yes;  I'm  just  about  twenty  miles  away,"  he  said, 
shrugging  his  shoulders.  "  Well,  I  suppose  I'm  letting 
myself  in  for  a  throw-down,  but  here  goes.  Honestly,  I 
mean  what  I  say.  I'm  stranded  here  —  don't  know  a 
soul.  I'm  just  craving  for  some  one  to  talk  to.  Fact. 
If  you're  in  the  same  box  and  can  size  a  man  up  for  what 
he  is,  why — "  he  added,  in  an  embarrassed  rush,  aware 
by  the  white  gleam  of  her  teeth  that  the  girl  was  watching 
him,  amused  at  his  embarrassment  — "  I  say,  what  do  you 
do  to  a  man  who  has  the  nerve  to  knock  on  your  door  and 
ask  you  to  go  out  to  dinner  ?  " 

"  I'm  sorry." 

"  Oh,  yes ;  that's  what  I  expected.  Well,  I  meant  it 
all  right,"  he  said  ruefully. 

"  That's  not  what  I  mean,"  she  said.  "  I'm  sorry,  but 
I'm  going  out  to  dinner." 

As  she  said  this  she  seemed  to  relate,  as  though  satis 
fied  of  the  sincerity  of  his  appeal,  and,  turning,  for  the 
first  time  the  light  fell  clear  across  her  face.  What  the 
color  of  her  eyes  was  in  the  daytime  he  did  not  know,  only 
now,  in  the  darkness  and  the  artificial  light,  there  was 
something  luminous  and  deep  and  full,  and  yet  they  struck 
him  as  a  sort  of  barrier  held  against  those  who  sought  to 
read  deeper.  These  eyes  looked  straight  into  his,  quiet, 
restrained  —  not  quite  the  eyes  of  a  young  girl  nor  yet 
the  eyes  of  a  woman.  The  whole  swift  impression  on 
him  was  of  some  one  quite  unlike  the  rest,  an  inflexibility 
of  purpose,  something  decisive  in  look  and  attitude  and, 
at  the  same  time,  something  withheld  —  a  flash  of  elfin 
wildness  cruelly  mastered. 


I4  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said,  conscious  that  he  had 
looked  too  intently;  and  he  added,  in  blunt  tribute: 
"  Yes,  of  course,  you  would  be  going  somewhere." 

"  I'm  sorry,"  she  said ;  and  this  time  she  smiled,  a  smile 
like  the  woman,  curiously  devoid  of  coquetry  and  yet  at 
the  same  time  haunting  the  imagination. 

"Do  you  mean  you  would  have  come?"  he  said 
eagerly. 

"Of  course,"  she  said,  as  though  this  were  the  most 
natural  thing  in  the  world. 

"  Lord,  this  looks  human! "  he  said,  hungrily  glancing 
into  the  studio.  "  Wish  you  could  see  the  cell  I'm  in." 
He  hesitated  a  moment  and  then  said  abruptly,  "  I'd  like 
—  well,  just  to  get  the  feeling  of  it  —  can  I  step  in  — 
just  a  moment?  " 

She  hesitated  in  turn  and  studied  his  face  intently. 

"  Just  a  minute,  then,"  she  said,  but  she  remained  by 
the  open  door. 

King  O'Leary  strode  into  the  room  over  the  grateful 
softness  underneath. 

"  Rugs !  "  he  said  ecstatically,  and  he  put  his  head  back 
as  though  to  inhale  the  welcome  odor  of  a  home.  "  Lord, 
I  can  just  smell  it!  "  he  said.  "  It  just  warms  you  up  — 
makes  you  feel  real." 

He  stood,  hat  in  hand,  his  face  glowing,  surveying  the 
blending  shades  of  gray  and  green,  the  subdued  glow  of 
the  table-lights,  the  grateful  touches  of  warm  colors  here 
and  there,  and  the  easel  covered  with  a  cloak  of  mellow 
golden  velvet  that  was  in  itself  calming  to  look  at. 

"  You're  an  artist?  "  he  said. 

"  Yes." 

She  made  no  move  to  question  him,  watching  him  with 
a  quiet  sense  of  dignity  that  seemed  to  accord  him  what  he 
needed  and  no  more.  He  turned  regretfully  from  his 
contemplation. 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  15 

"  You're  sure  about  dinner?  " 

"  Yes." 

He  wanted  to  shake  hands,  but  her  attitude  did  not 
seem  to  permit  it.  He  made  a  last  attempt. 

"  Say,  if  I  annoy  you  with  my  pounding  —  just  rap  on 
the  wall  and  shut  me  up." 

"  I  like  it." 

"  Really  —  anything  in  particular?  " 

"No;  I  like  it  all." 

"  I'm  glad  of  that."  He  hesitated  again,  moved  to 
ward  the  door.  "  I'm  sorry  about  that  dinner." 

She  nodded,  and  he  thought  she  was  still  watching  him 
with  her  disconcerting  amusement. 

"Good  luck!" 

The  door  closed,  leaving  King  O'Leary,  who  had  met 
women,  good,  bad,  and  indifferent,  in  many  climes  and 
held  his  own  with  Irish  audacity,  so  thoroughly  perplexed 
that  he  stood  staring  at  the  warm  light  playing  on  the 
glass  of  the  door  a  long  moment  before  he  squared  his 
shoulders  and  advanced  to  the  next  test. 


II 

TOOTLES  shared  the  studio,  which  was  a  curiosity  in  it 
self,  and  a  sort  of  refuge  for  indigent  artists,  transient 
reporters  and  just  plain-a-day  human  beings,  with  Mr. 
Flick  Wilder,  who  numbered  among  his  activities  (with 
out  tarrying  overlong  in  any)  journalism,  all  grades  of 
publicity  and  press-work,  advance  agent,  and  odd  theatri 
cal  jobs,  special  stories,  and  occasionally  minor  editorial 
positions,  briefly  held.  As  he  aspired  to  a  liberal  position 
in  the  literary  world  —  and  by  liberal,  he  understood  a 
position  in  which  he  should  originate  the  ideas  that  others 
were  laboriously  to  execute  —  he  had  decided  to  take  up 
as  a  steady  profession  (steady  being  used  in  a  relative 
sense)  the  occupation  of  joke-smith,  or  joke-cracker,  as 
he  himself  termed  it,  as  one  which  necessitated  only  a 
trifling  expense  in  the  shape  of  a  note-book,  developed  the 
memory,  and  made  the  companionship  of  witty  associates 
a  lucrative  necessity.  He  pounded  out  the  pun  ordinary 
by  the  dozen  for  the  comic  weeklies  at  fifty  cents  an  item. 
He  dressed  up  anecdotes  skimmed  from  current  journal 
ism,  and  fitted  them  to  celebrities,  a  process  which  he 
termed  "  developing  the  property."  He  seasoned  Eng 
lish  humor  with  the  pepper  of  American  wit.  He  tagged 
an  inscription  to  a  cartoon  and  supplied  ideas  for  others 
ad  libitum,  and  occasionally,  by  astutely  padding  two  lines 
into  a  paragraph  or  a  paragraph  into  a  section,  realized 
the  colossal  sum  of  five  dollars.  Daily  contemplation  of 
all  things  in  their  humorous  possibilities  had  settled  upon 
him  a  fixed  gravity,  a  sort  of  distant  look  in  the  eyes,  of 
seeking  to  determine  whether  the  last  man  had  uttered 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  17 

anything  of  value,  and  where  others  broke  into  laughter, 
he  resorted  to  his  note-book.  He  had  seen  many  sides 
of  New  York  in  the  periodic  lapses  which  kept  him  con 
stantly  in  search  of  a  new  profession.  He  had  even  been 
a  dog-catcher  during  a  week  of  financial  stringency,  when 
he  was  seeking  to  earn  his  fare  from  Chattanooga  back 
to  the  metropolis,  but  he  never  referred  to  this  except  in 
moments  of  full  confession.  He  had  a  play  and  a  novel 
which  he  intended  to  complete.  In  tribute  to  this  literary 
productivity,  he  liked  to  refer  to  himself  as  "  Literature," 
while  addressing  Tootles  as  "  Art." 

Their  association  had  come  about  six  months  previ 
ously,  in  a  quite  accidental  manner.  Tootles,  who  was  of 
extravagant  tastes,  was  immersed  in  a  fit  of  hard  work, 
in  an  effort  to  catch  up  with  the  rent,  which,  though  only 
thirty  dollars  a  month,  was  beyond  his  powers  of  con 
centration.  He  was  at  his  easel,  finishing  up  a  series  of 
commercial  sketches  depicting  certain  Olympian  young 
men,  beautiful  as  men  are  not,  lolling  on  the  seashore  in 
the  new  spring  styles  of  Wimpfheimer  &  Goldfinch's 
twenty-five-dollar  suits  —  a  degradation  which  he  en 
dured  against  the  day  when  the  galleries  of  the  world 
should  contend  for  his  masterpieces,  on  the  practical 
theory  that  it  not  only  kept  the  landlord  in  good  humor 
but  gave  the  artist  himself  exceptional  opportunities  in 
the  matter  of  his  own  wardrobe. 

The  door  was  open,  and  he  was  aware  that  something 
unusual  was  taking  place  along  the  hall  —  from  the  inter 
mittent  sounds  which  rolled  down,  of  loud  and  angry  con 
versation  —  when  there  abruptly  entered  the  room,  and 
by  the  same  token  his  own  immediate  existence,  Mr.  Flick 
Wilder,  a  sandy-haired,  freckled  Westerner,  with  a  wa 
tery  eye  and  an  impudent  tilt  to  his  nose,  a  heavy,  thirsty 
underlip,  about  thirty,  of  middle  height  but  so  abnormally 
thin  that  he  appeared  back-bone  et  prczterea  nihil. 


i8  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

"  Hello,  kid!  "  said  Mr.  Wilder,  with  a  friendly  though 
suspiciously  enthusiastic  greeting. 

"  Hello,  you  human  hatpin,"  Tootles  immediately  re 
torted.  "  What's  your  line  of  goods?  " 

"  Did  I  hear  you  ask  me  in  ?  "  said  Wilder  affably. 

"  No  agents  need  apply,"  said  Tootles,  in  warning. 
"  However,  can  you  lend  me  five?  " 

From  long  contact,  he  had  adopted  a  defensive  form 
ula  :  In  case  of  doubt,  touch  the  other  man  first. 

"  I  can,"  said  the  other,  accepting  this  as  an  invitation 
to  enter. 

Tootles  eyed  him  through  the  narrowing  slits  of  his 
eyes  and  repeated  sternly, 

"  Come  now;  what's  your  line  of  goods?  " 

"  I  have  a  camel,"  said  the  other,  in  an  easy,  matter- 
of-fact  tone. 

"A  what?" 

"  A  camel." 

"  I  don't  want  any  toys." 

"  It's  a  real  camel." 

"  Thanks.  I'm  only  interested  in  getting  goats,"  said 
Tootles  sarcastically. 

Whereupon,  to  his  amazement,  his  visitor  immediately 
drew  out  a  memorandum-book,  reflected  a  moment,  nod 
ded,  and  jotted  down  a  note.  Then  he  said : 

"  Want  you  to  ride  it." 

"Oh,  you  do,  eh?" 

"  And  if  ten  dollars  means  anything  to  you,  kiddo  — 
look  this  over." 

Whereupon  he  took  two  five-dollar  bills  from  a  sizeable 
roll  and  flaunted  them  conspicuously  on  the  table.  The 
aspect  of  ready  money  had  always  a  convincing  effect 
upon  Tootles.  Still,  the  thing  was  too  absurd.  He 
looked  at  Wilder,  and  then  went  to  the  door  and  looked 
out  suddenly,  suspecting  a  hoax.  He  came  back  warily, 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  19 

forgetting  his  English  accent,  which  he  had  laboriously 
imitated  in  admiration  of  a  certain  vaudeville  hero. 

"  Say,  what  kind  of  a  game  is  this  ?  " 

"  Money  talks,  doesn't  it?  " 

"  A  camel!" 

"  You  don't  believe  I've  got  a  camel,  do  you  ?  "  said 
Wilder,  with  a  hypnotic  stare.  "  Come  here." 

They  went  to  the  window  and  craned  out.  Below,  in 
the  street,  surrounded  by  a  swarm  of  newsboys,  was  in 
dubitably  a  camel.  Up  to  this  moment,  Tootles  had  re 
mained  incredulous.  Now  he  began  to  feel  a  rising  ex 
citement.  He  scented  trouble,  and  if  there  was  anything 
he  went  to  naturally,  with  enthusiasm,  it  was  trouble.  He 
liked  to  be  in  it,  and  he  particularly  liked  to  lead  others 
therein. 

"  How  about  the  cops,"  he  said,  at  once. 

Wilder  exhibited  a  permit. 

"  It's  a  publicity  dodge  —  see !  "  he  explained.  "  New 
show  at  Coney.  If  I  can  make  Times  Square  at  five 
o'clock,  a  bunch  of  the  boys  are  primed  up  for  a  big 
story." 

"  Why  don't  you  ride  him  yourself,"  said  Tootles,  in 
a  last  objection. 

"  I  can't.  I'm  too  sober,"  said  Flick,  with  a  discour 
aged  shake  of  his  head,  as  though  to  convey  the  idea  that 
the  day  had  been  too  short. 

They  descended  to  the  sidewalk. 

"  How'll  I  get  up  ?  "  said  Tootles,  craning  his  neck. 

This  was  a  puzzler.     Wilder  reflected. 

"  I  had  a  trained  slave  who  could  make  him  kneel,"  he 
explained,  "  but  I  lost  Abu  over  on  Ninth  Avenue  —  the 
drunken  rascal ! " 

Finally  they  maneuvered  Elsie  against  the  side  of  a 
truck,  and  Tootles  scrambled  into  place,  amid  the  jeers  of 
the  neighborhood.  Wilder  placed  himself  courageously 


20  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

at  the  head,  with  the  leading-strap,  and  they  started.  Un 
fortunately  it  was  only  four  o'clock,  and  he  did  not  wish 
to  reach  his  rendezvous  before  five,  and,  in  a  luckless  mo 
ment,  decided  to  cross  the  park  and  explore  the  East  Side. 
This,  too,  might  have  resulted  without  accident,  had  not 
Flick,  whose  sense  of  geography  was  becoming  misty, 
happened  to  remember  Abu,  and  stopped  at  each  saloon 
to  conduct  a  personal  search,  despite  the  frantic  remon 
strances  of  Tootles,  who  did  not  relish  these  moments  of 
lonely  and  lofty  splendor.  Elsie,  the  camel,  however, 
was  of  a  sociable,  man-loving  nature,  and  no  harm  might 
have  come,  had  not  Wilder,  whose  sobriety  was  per 
ceptibly  being  cured,  remembered,  as  a  humane  man  with 
an  investigating  turn  of  mind,  that  Elsie  must  be  getting 
thirsty,  and  offered  her  a  can  of  foaming  beer. 

The  consequence  was  that  the  camel  suddenly  awoke 
and  assumed  the  direction  of  the  party,  heading  due  east 
(with  an  instinct,  perhaps,  toward  the  fatherland)  at  an 
accelerated  pace,  despite  Tootles'  objurgations  and  Flick's 
frantic  efforts  to  head  her  off.  The  rest  was  a  painful 
memory  —  a  weird,  reeling  flight  of  excited  tenements, 
balking  horses,  swearing  policemen,  and  a  sudden  entan 
gling  plunge  into  an  Italian  wedding,  in  which  camel, 
bride,  coupes,  and  guests  became  fantastically  intermin 
gled,  while  Tootles,  hanging  to  the  top  of  a  providential 
lamp-post,  saw  Flick,  Elsie,  the  policemen  and  wedding- 
party  rolling  away  in  a  whirling  mist. 

A  week  later,  Flick  Wilder  reappeared,  having  beaten 
his  way  back  from  Buffalo,  where  he  had  landed,  he  knew 
not  how  and  asked  shelter,  while  he  made  certain  cautious 
inquiries  as  to  the  fate  of  Elsie  and  the  propriety  of  a 
public  reappearance. 

From  this  hectic  beginning,  they  became  fast  chums. 
Tootles,  who  never  touched  a  drop,  unconsciously  exer 
cised  a  sobering  influence  over  Mr.  Flick  Wilder,  gradu- 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  21 

ally  leading  him  into  the  paths  of  ambition  while  follow 
ing  him  through  a  series  of  incredible  escapades.  Lonely, 
each  in  his  own  struggling  beginning,  they  found  a  divine 
measure  of  comradeship  in  their  exuberant  youth,  dream 
ing  away  at  night  under  the  stars  that  came  down  to  them 
through  the  open  skylight;  Tootles  of  fame  and  master 
pieces;  Flick  of  more  worldly  ambitions,  of  rolling  down 
the  avenue,  not  on  camels  but  in  glaring  limousines,  of 
being  saluted  obsequiously  by  precipitate  head  waiters 
conducting  him  through  luxurious  restaurants  where 
beautiful  women  with  diamonds  in  their  hair  sent  him  im 
ploring  glances.  But  as  these  dreams,  though  immensely 
satisfying  to  the  inner  needs,  had  the  one  serious  defect 
of  not  being  discountable,  the  rent  loomed  over  them  like 
the  sword  of  Damocles,  compelling  them,  much  as  the 
outer  world  called  to  their  curiosity  and  love  of  adventure, 
to  the  cruel  necessity  of  doing  a  certain  amount  of  work 
—  menial,  brutalizing  periods,  which  set  upon  them  in 
the  closing  week  of  the  month,  with  consequent  scurrying 
to  editorial  offices. 

During  the  free,  happy  weeks,  Tootles  dreamed  and 
dabbled  at  painting,  executing  lurid  portraits  of  Belle 
Shaler  and  Pansy  Hartmann,  models  who  roomed  to 
gether  down  the  hall,  and  who,  under  promise  of  pos 
sessing  these  treasures  of  art,  agreed  to  sit  for  him  at 
special  rates,  payable  at  some  radiant  future  date.  Oc 
casionally  Tootles  wandered  into  the  studios  of  artists  in 
the  Sixty-seventh  Street  district  for  such  crumbs  of 
knowledge  as  they  good-humoredly  threw  him.  The 
truth  is,  he  had  unusual  talent  but  too  much  youth.  Oc 
casionally,  too,  Flick  Wilder,  impressed  with  his  serious 
view  of  life,  would  get  out  his  copybooks,  sharpen  his 
pencil  and  prepare  to  think. 

The  studio  was  a  capacious  one,  arranged  in  compro 
mise  between  Flick's  yearning  for  splendor  and  Tootles' 


22  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

feeling  for  the  decorative  in  art.  At  first  glance,  it 
looked  like  a  theatrical  storehouse,  from  which  parentage 
most  of  its  furnishings  had  found  their  way,  so  that  one 
versed  in  dramatic  necrology  would  have  fancied  himself 
on  the  reef  of  last  season's  plays.  The  studio  was  lit  by 
two  windows  on  the  street  and  a  great,  slanting  skylight 
overhead.  On  one  side  was  a  huge  back  drop  depicting  a 
sunset  in  the  Grand  Canon,  while  on  the  other  was  a 
bucolic  view  of  southern  plantations,  secured  from  a 
broken-down  troupe  of  "  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin,"  for  a  price 
between  two  and  three  dollars.  The  introduction  of  these 
novel  effects  in  mural  decoration,  a  relic  of  Flick  Wilder's 
friendship  with  a  convivial  property-man,  was  at  first 
strenuously  opposed  by  Tootles,  who,  however,  ceded  his 
position  when  Flick  pertinently  pointed  out,  first,  that 
the  bare  walls  were  in  a  shocking  state  and  could  not  be 
replastered  unless  one  month's  rent  could  be  guaranteed 
in  advance,  and,  second,  that  the  scenery  would  serve  as 
invaluable  backgrounds  for  the  production  of  Wimpf- 
heimer  &  Goldfinch's  pastorales. 

In  a  back  corner,  four  property  spears,  from  a  popular 
failure  of  "  Julius  Caesar,"  upheld  a  yellowish-green  silk 
curtain  which,  when  parted,  disclosed  two  bunks,  one 
above  the  other,  for  greater  economy  of  space  —  Tootles 
occupying  the  more  exposed  position  in  deference  to 
Flick's  uncertain  habits. 

The  opposite  corner  by  the  windows  was  consecrated 
to  Art,  paint-boxes,  easel,  and  canvases;  while  the  home 
of  Literature  was  a  damaged  roll-top  desk  from  the  first 
act  of  a  deceased  melodrama,  with  easy  refuge  at  hand  in 
a  second-hand  easy  chair  and  a  divan  with  the  front  spring 
still  in  good  order.  Another  sofa  and  a  hanging  couch 
burned  with  pipe-ashes  were  known  as  the  guest-rooms, 
while  the  studio  was  artfully  divided  into  zones  by  three 
pseudo-Japanese  screens,  red,  yellow,  and  violet,  which 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  23 

swore  at  everything  else  and  at  themselves.  Behind  one 
was  the  bathroom,  so-called  as  a  compliment  to  the  pres 
ence  of  a  wash-basin  and  running  water.  A  second 
screen,  with  memories  of  "  Zaza,"  concealed  the  culinary 
preparations  when,  indeed,  there  was  anything  in  the 
larder  to  conceal;  while  behind  a  third  was  a  wardrobe 
containing  Tootles'  multiple  suits,  which  had  come  to  him 
in  part  payment  (dress  suits  excepted)  of  his  services  to 
the  house  of  Wimpfheimer  &  Goldfinch. 

All  the  electric  bulbs  were  concealed  in  varicolored 
globes  representing  several  varieties  of  the  fish  and  animal 
kingdom  and  capable  of  flooding  the  studio  with  red,  blue, 
or  green  tints,  while  perched  in  the  high,  dusky  corners 
of  the  ceiling  were  two  cast-iron  owls  so  wired  that  Flick, 
from  his  couch,  could  cause  four  yellowish  eyes  to  spring 
out  of  the  darkness.  Finally,  the  pride  of  the  floor,  where 
it  dominated  gorgeously  the  collection  of  vagrant  mats, 
was  a  genuine  if  moldy  bear-rug,  with  which  Flick  had 
unaccountably  made  his  appearance  one  night,  insisting 
that  it  had  attacked  him  without  warning.  Tootles  was 
considerably  worried,  but  a  closer  inspection  of  the  ani 
mal  convinced  him  that  Flick  had  more  probably  rescued 
it  from  an  ash-can  than  carried  it  off  by  any  act  of  grand 
larceny.  Consequently  he  set  to  work  with  enthusiasm 
to  restore  it  to  some  of  its  original  ferocity,  and  with  the 
aid  of  odd  scraps  of  furs  succeeded  in  reconstructing  a 
semblance  of  a  body,  but  one  of  such  unusual  colors 
that  it  might  have  passed  as  a  specie  of  the  Go-to-fro 
—  that  mythological  animal  which  has  the  left  leg 
shorter  than  the  right  in  order  that  it  may  run  around 
a  hill  the  faster. 

In  the  hallway  was  a  large  sign  inscribed  : 

PEDDLERS,  BOOK  AGENTS  AND  CREDITORS 

CROSS  THIS  LINE  AT  THEIR  PERIL. 

SAVAGE  DOG  ON  PREMISES. 


24  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

Around  the  studio  others  signs  announced: 

GUESTS  STAYING  FOR  BREAKFAST 
PROVIDE  THEIR  OWN  COFFEE 

AND 

WILL  BE  CHARGED  FOR 
THE  USE  OF  THE  TOWEL. 

By  the  door,  a  practical  inspiration  of  Tootles,  was  a 
collection-box  bearing  a  large  placard : 

KIDDER  &  WILDER'S  250  LODGINGS 

FOR  TRANSIENT  BACHELORS  ONLY 

THIS  is  NOT  A  CARNEGIE  FOUNDATION. 

COME  ONCE  AND  BE  OUR  GUEST 

COME  AGAIN  AND  CONTRIBUTE 
COME  OFTEN,  THE  RENT  is  HIGH. 


Ill 

FLICK  WILDER  was  stretched  on  his  back  on  the  shad 
owy  couch,  hands  under  his  head,  legs  crossed,  and  one 
foot  pointed  toward  the  skylight,  against  which  the  re 
flections  of  the  opposite  hotel  cast  a  blurred  glamour. 

"  Hello ;  you  here  ?  "  said  Tootles,  in  surprise. 

"  Mostly." 

"Sober?" 

"Alas!" 

"What  are  you  mooning  there  on  your  back  for?'5" 
said  Tootles,  turning  on  the  pink  and  yellow  lights. 

"  I'm  laughing  over  a  new  joke,"  said  Wilder,  in  any 
thing  but  an  hilarious  tone. 

"  Good  Lord,  Flick,"  said  Tootles,  stopping  short : 
"  don't  tell  me  you  are  in  the  glums,  too?  " 

"  Who're  you  talking  to  ?  "  said  Wilder,  as  though  the 
question  deserved  no  answer. 

"  Fellow  down  the  hall." 

"  The  high-life  gink  who  is  moving  into  the  corner 
studio?" 

"  No ;  O'Leary  —  fellow  next  to  Lady  Vere  De  Vere," 
said  Tootles,  thus  characterizing  Miss  Inga  Sonderson, 
who  had  impressed  him  with  her  haughty  aloofness. 

"  Oh! "  Wilder  slowly  drew  himself  up  and  looked  in 
quiringly  at  Tootles.  "  What  time?  " 

"  Dinner-time,  naturally." 

"  Art,"  said  Wilder  severely,  "  there  are  some  sacred 
words  which  you  ought  to  respect." 

"  I  was  just  thinking  how  lovely  it  would  be  to  sit  down 
before  a  large,  juicy  beefsteak,"  said  Tootles  incorrigibly. 


26  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

""  You  know  the  kind,  browned  on  the  outside,  rare  in 
side,  melting  in  the  mouth." 

Wilder  flung  a  slipper  across  the  room  that  missed 
Tootles'  head  and  clattered  among  the  paint-brushes. 

"  Well,  Literature,  supposing  there  is  an  ice-box,  is 
there  anything  in  it  ?  " 

"  You're  forgetting  your  English  accent,  Tootles,"  said 
Wilder,  as  he  bustled,  whistling,  over  to  the  window-box. 

"  My  word  —  so  I  am !  "  said  Tootles,  following  and 
peering  over  his  shoulder. 

Wilder  drew  forth  half  a  bottle  of  milk,  an  open  tin 
of  potted  ham  and  several  portions  of  bread. 

"  The  sardines,"  he  said,  "  are  for  our  Christmas  din 


ner." 


"  Don't  let's  overeat,"  said  Tootles  seriously,  trying  to 
coax  forth  a  smile.  "  Flick,  the  stomach  must  be  empty 
when  the  brain  is  full." 

They  sat  down  at  the  table,  facing  each  other. 

"  What !  No  finger-bowls  ?  "  said  Tootles  facetiously, 
drumming  a  march  on  the  table. 

"  Art,  it's  no  use,"  said  Wilder,  shaking  his  head. 
'"  It's  a  bum  night.  Damn  Christmas  anyhow !  " 

"  Ah,  but  wait  until  Santa  Claus  comes,"  said  Tootles 
brightly. 

At  this  moment,  as  though  in  answer,  there  came  two 
sharp  raps  on  the  door  that  set  the  glass  to  rattling. 

"Who's  that?"  said  Wilder,  startled  at  the  coinci 
dence. 

"Santa  Claus,"  said  Tootles.  "Well,  come  in  if 
you're  good  looking." 

The  door  opened  immediately,  and  King  O'Leary's 
TDroad  shoulders  loomed  out  of  the  dusk.  He  stood  there 
In  his  flannel  shirt  and  loose  tie,  at  ease  from  a  long 
acquaintance  with  the  freemasonry  of  men,  peering  in  at 
the  oddities  of  the  studio,  which  seemed  to  amuse  him 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  27 

immensely.  Then  he  saluted,  with  the  curious,  flutter 
ing  salute  of  the  English  private,  and  exclaimed : 

"  Hello,  neighbors !     Am  I  butting  in  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  Tootles  cheerily.  "  What  can  we 
do  for  you  ?  "  He  waved  a  hand  toward  Wilder,  adding : 
"  My  collaborator,  the  Hope  of  Literature,  Mr.  Flick 
Wilder." 

"  Glad  to  know  you,"  said  the  new  arrival,  shaking 
hands  heartily,  as  though  he  were  indeed  delighted  at 
the  opportunity.  "  My  name's  O'Leary."  And  he 
added,  grinning  expectantly,  "  What  do  you  collaborate 
in?" 

"  In  the  studio,  of  course,"  said  Tootles.  "  I  pay  the 
rent,  and  he  occupies  it." 

Wilder  at  once  transferred  this  to  his  memorandum- 
book  with  an  appreciative  nod. 

"  Gentlemen,  this  place  has  sort  of  gotten  on  my  nerves 
to-night,"  said  O'Leary,  by  way  of  explanation. 
"  Christmas  usually  does,  whether  I'm  in  Singapore, 
Manila,  or  hoofing  it  up  the  Roo  Royale.  If  I'm  butting 
in,  kick  me  out,  but  if  you  fellows  have  got  it  as  bad  as 
I  have,  what  do  you  say  to  pooling  our  misery  and  grub 
bing  together.  It  strikes  me  that's  better  than  chewing 
the  cud  in  our  corners." 

Wilder  looked  at  Tootles,  who  said  with  gravity,  in 
his  best  English  manner : 

"  Your  idea  interests  me  strangely;  but  the  fact  is  — 
well,  we've  been  out  so  much  in  society  lately  that  we 
thought  we'd  enjoy  a  quiet  little  supper  at  home — " 
King  O'Leary  glanced  at  the  table;  perceiving  which, 
Tootles  hastened  to  add,  "  No,  that  isn't  for  the  canary; 
that  is  just  the  hors  d'ceuvres" 

"Strapped?" 

"  That  is  a  vulgar  way  of  expressing  the  same  idea." 

"  Stranger  treats  the  crowd,"  said  O'Leary  with  an 


28  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

easy  authority.  "  That's  the  rule  of  the  game  wherever 
I  have  played.  I'm  asking  you.  Happen  to  have  a  little 
swelling  in  the  pocket  just  at  present.  When  it's  empty, 
which  will  be  soon  enough,  why  —  your  turn.  How 
about  it,  neighbors?  Suppose  we  look  each  other  over 
and  size  it  up?  " 

Half  an  hour  later  they  deployed  from  the  Arcade  and 
set  out  for  Healy's,  grimly  determined  on  revelry  and 
the  conquest  of  the  glums.  Unfortunately,  the  Christ 
mas  crowds  were  still  about  them,  homeward  bound. 

"  They  might  get  home  at  a  decent  hour,"  said  Flick, 
indignantly. 

"  No  turkeys  to-night/'  said  Tootles.  "  I'm  against 
it  My  word!  The  thought  of  all  those  birds,  plucked 
and  skinned,  thousands  and  thousands  " —  he  reflected  a 
moment — "  no,  hundreds  of  thousands  —  think  of  it  — 
hundreds  of  thousands  of  turkeys !  " 

"  Confound  them,  they  look  happy,"  said  Flick,  blow 
ing  the  snow  from  his  nostrils.  "  Well,  anyhow,  they'll 
all  be  ill  to-morrow !  " 

King  O'Leary  squared  his  shoulders  and  looked  straight 
ahead,  but  he  found  a  moment,  as  they  were  crossing  the 
newsboys  at  the  subway,  to  slip  surreptitiously  a  shiny 
quarter  into  the  fist  of  a  pursuing  urchin. 

"  No  public  stuff,"  he  said,  as  he  entered  by  the  bar 
entrance.  "  A  quiet  corner  where  men  can  lounge  and 
spin  a  yarn  as  they  like.  Here's  a  seat.  Shove  in."  He 
glanced  at  the  rough-hewn  crowd  by  the  rail,  and  said 
grimly :  "  Mighty  grateful  to  you  fellows.  Suppose  I'd 
have  had  to  pick  up  with  one  of  those  guys." 

They  slipped  into  a  padded  nook  with  high  backs, 
tucked  away  from  the  whirl  of  mirrors  and  the  regi 
mented  bottles  beyond  the  black,  curved  backs,  and  der 
bies  pushed  over  the  ears. 

"  What'llitbe?" 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  29 

"  No  turkey,"  said  Tootles. 

"  And  no  cranberry  sauce,"  added  Flick. 

"No,  no— forget  all  that!" 

But  at  this  moment,  as  though  the  spirit  of  the  holiday 
were  bent  on  pursuing  them  like  a  tantalizing  imp,  a 
stableman,  affably  inclined,  saluted  the  room  in  his  de 
parture. 

"  Well,  and  good  luck  to  youse  all.  A  foine  Christ 
mas!" 

"  How  about  a  steak?  "  said  Tootles  hastily. 

"  That  hits  me,  and  we'll  have  it  planked,"  said 
O'Leary. 

"  Better  look  at  the  tax,"  said  Flick,  in  a  burst  of 
friendliness. 

"  Rot !  We'll  make  a  night  of  it !  "  said  King  O'Leary, 
with  the  gesture  of  a  millionaire  toward  Schnapps,  the 
veteran  waiter,  who  grinned  down  at  them  from  his 
gobbler  head. 

"  My  word!  If  I  ordered  that,  they'd  make  me  show 
the  goods,"  said  Tootles,  in  admiration.  "  Have  you 
found  a  gold  mine?  " 

"  Hardly  that." 

"  Been  away  quite  a  bit,  haven't  you?" 

"  Yep ;  just  back."  He  paused,  and  noting  the  curiosity 
written  on  the  faces  of  his  guests,  said :  "  Suppose  it's  up 
to  me  to  give  an  account  of  myself."  Schnapps  was  back 
with  a  bottle.  O'Leary  poured  out  his  glass  of  whisky, 
taking  it  neat,  with  a  look  of  surprise  at  Tootles'  refusal. 
"  Water-wagon?  Always  have  been?  Well,  don't  know 
but  what  you  have  the  advantage.  Will  say  this,  though, 
cottoned  right  up  to  you,  boy,  over  there  in  that  elevator. 
You  got  the  first  laugh  out  of  me  in  a  long  blue  day,  and 
that's  more  than  I  thought  any  one  could  do.  Here's 
to  you !  Kind  of  reckon  we'll  hit  it  off.  You'll  find  me 
a  different  sort  day  after  to-morrow  —  right  there  with 


,3o  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

the  repartee  and  the  jollying  stuff.  How ! "  He  emp 
tied  the  glass  and  pushed  it  away.  "  I  say,  we  might  as 
well  start  fair.  I'm  apt  to  get  pretty  down  —  not  violent 
—  just  down.  Savvy?" 

"  I've  handled  them  before,"  said  Tootles  cheerily,  with 
a  glance  of  tribute  to  Flick.  "  Go  as  far  as  you  like. 
This  is  free  soil." 

"  What  made  you  turn  around  there  in  the  hall  and 
wish  me  luck  ?  "  said  King  O'Leary  slowly. 

"  Don't  know.     Kind  of  felt  how  you  felt,  I  suppose." 

"  You  hit  it,  all  right.  But  that's  something  we  won't 
talk  about.  Well,  lads,  I  suppose  you're  curious  about 
me,  same  as  I  am  about  you.  If  I  were  to  tell  you  all  the 
scrapes  I've  been  in  and  out  of  in  thirty-seven  years,  we'd 
be  sitting  here  at  Easter.  If  any  one  should  ask  me  what 
I  did,  suppose  I'd  have  to  answer  —  just  circulate. 

"That's  what  I've  been  doing — for  I've  been  doing 
-everything,  and  some  of  it  is  worth  the  telling,  as  you'll 
hear  if  we  get  to  chumming.  If  you  ask  me  what  I  like, 
I'd  rather  beat  the  box  than  eat.  Don't  know  anything 
about  it,  but  just  can't  help  playing  —  natural  ear.  When 
I  get  short  of  funds,  I  wander  in  anywhere,  cafe  or 
vaudeville,  and  whip  up  the  old  pianner —  All  right, 
Schnapps,  don't  annoy  the  bottle  —  Trouble  with  me,  I 
suppose  is,  I  got  to  roaming  early.  A  habit  now.  Am 
never  long  in  one  spot  before  something  comes  tugging 
around  at  my  shirt  sleeve  and  I  get  to  dreaming  of  fast  ex 
presses,  or  sailing  into  blue  seas,  or  Piccadilly  on  Satur 
day  night,  or  the  little  dog-sleds  up  in  Alasky  or  some 
thing  far-off  and  similar.  Times  there  are  when  I  think 
I've  come  to  the  point  of  driving  a  stake.  Suppose  it'll 
-strike  me  some  time.  I  ain't  quite  as  restless  as  I  used  to 
be,  but  just  at  present,  why,  say  —  if  you  were  to  suggest 
skipping  down  to  Coentes  Slip  and  shipping  for  Honolulu 
-or  Madagascar,  I'd  beat  you  to  it." 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  3r 

"  Do  you  feel  that  way?  "  said  Flick,  opening  his  eyes 
with  delight.  "  Shake!  You're  my  long-lost  brother."" 

"  However,  we're  not  shipping  before  the  mast,"  said 
Tootles  anxiously,  who  saw  the  dinner  arriving  with  re 
lief.  "  We're  eating  a  nice,  ripe,  juicy  steak  with  friend 
Santa  Claus." 

"  Where  have  you  come  from  now?  "  said  Flick,  wak 
ing  up. 

"  Had  a  try  at  Alasky,  sunk  it  all  in  a  bum  mine  and  a 
phony  partner,"  said  O'Leary.  "  Got  as  far  as  Kansas 
City  and  got  trimmed  by  a  pickpocket  while  I  snoozed. 
Boys,  I  certainly  was  up  against  it  there.  Had  to  take  a 
job  as  a  coachman.  Mighty  little  I  had  to  go  on,  but 
luck  was  with  me.  Usually  is,  wherever  I  tumble.  The 
horses  were  a  couple  of  baa-lambs  that  an  infant  could 
have  harnessed,  let  alone  driven.  That  was  all  right,  I 
bluffed  through  that.  But  the  old  lady  was  a  terror. 
The  old  man  had  struck  it  sudden,  and  she  was  wallowing 
in  that  carriage.  She  was  fierce.  She  was  a  fat  woman, 
and  she  swore  like  a  mule-driver.  I  tell  you,  that  month 
was  something  awful.  I  stood  it  until  she  drove  down 
to  the  bank  and  paid  me  off,  jabbing  me  in  the  back  with 
her  parasol  and  swearing  directions  under  her  breath. 
Fve  stood  a  good  deal  in  my  little  canters  around  this 
globe,  but  I  can't  stand  being  sworn  at  by  a  fat  woman 
on  a  public  street." 

"What  did  you  do?"  said  Tootles,  adding  a  curling 
strip  of  brown  potatoes,  smothered  onions,  and  splashes 
of  beans,  peas,  and  carrots  to  each  plate. 

"  With  fifty  dollars  tucked  away,  I  laid  for  her  until  out 
she  came  with  a  final  poke  in  the  ribs.  Then  I  hauled  in 
my  horses,  took  off  my  livery,  made  her  a  bow,  and 
handed  it  over  to  her  with  the  reins,  right  there  in 
the  main  street.  By  jingo,  it  was  worth  it  to  see  her 
face!" 


32  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

"What's  the  queerest  job  you  ever  landed?"  said 
Flick,  savoring  the  steak  with  gratitude. 

"Queerest?"  said  O'Leary,  scratching  his  head  and 
seeming  to  return  over  a  long  and  grotesque  line.  "  I've 
done  some  funny  things  in  my  time." 

"  Tell  you  what  I  did  over  in  Chattanooga  —  in  red- 
hot  midsummer,  too,"  said  Flick,  in  a  burst  of  confidence. 
"  I  was  a  dog-catcher." 

"  That  certainly  is  going  down  for  it,"  said  O'Leary, 
grinning.  "  But  I've  got  you  beat.  I  subbed  in  a  face- 
parlor." 

"A  what?" 

"  Painted  out  black  eyes  and  that  sort  of  thing.  Fact 
—  out  in  Chicago." 

"  My  word !  "  said  Tootles,  overjoyed  to  see  a  beam  of 
good  humor  breaking  through  the  clouds.  "  I  wonder 
that  I  associate  with  such  persons." 

"  Leaving  out  the  dog-catcher,"  said  O'Leary,  falling 
with  gusto  to  the  attack  of  his  heaped-up  plate,  "  I  do  be 
lieve,  with  the  exception  of  preaching  and  tooth-extract 
ing,  I've  tried  them  all.  I've  run  a  country  paper. 
There's  a  story  there  I'll  give  you  some  day.  Lord !  I 
even  taught  school  in  the  Philippines  to  the  pesky  heathen. 
Have  mined  for  gold,  silver,  copper,  diamonds,  and  zinc, 
from  Cripple  Creek  to  Kimberley.  I've  traded  and  sold 
everything  from  a  thousand  cattle  to  peddling  collar-but 
tons  at  the  Queen's  Jubilee.  I've  been  a  bartender  in 
Paree,  and  into  a  peck  of  trouble,  too.  I've  run  a  steam 
laundry  in  Porto  Ricky  and  had  the  whole  danged  busi 
ness  washed  away  in  a  hurricane.  I've  dipped  into  a  few 
spring  revolutions  in  South  Americky,  and  I  rode  out  with 
Jameson  in  the  raid  that  kicked  out  the  whole  African 
mess.  Got  in  and  out  of  Kimberley,  and  joined  the 
Rough  Riders  with  Teddy  —  here's  to  him !  Never  was 
much  of  a  sailor,  but  I've  seen  my  time  before  the  mast 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  33 

through  the  Southern  seas  (that's  how  I  appreciated  your 
nautical  terms,  boy)  when  I  stowed  away  for  Chiny  and 
Calcutta.  Lord,  where  haven't  I  been?  " 

"  O'Leary,  you're  either  a  hell  of  a  big  liar  or  a  regular 
fellow,"  said  Flick,  cheerfully,  "  and  either  way,  I'm  for 
you." 

"  Maybe  I'm  blowing  too  much,"  said  O'Leary  quietly. 
"  But  it's  sort  o'  whistling  in  the  wind  to  keep  your  cour 
age  up.  However,  I've  laid  my  cards  on  the  table. 
That's  me.  Well,  this  is  starting  good  enough  to  keep  it 
going.  What  do  you  say  to  taking  in  a  show?  There's 
something  in  the  line  of  vaudeville  over  at  the  Colonial?  " 

"  Is  there  so  much  money  in  the  world?  "  said  Tootles 
doubtfully. 

"  Boy,  a  taxi !  "  said  King  O'Leary,  pounding  on  the 
table  gorgeously. 

"  I'm  beginning  to  feel  like  the  Fourth  of  July,"  said 
Flick,  who  gave  in  completely  with  this  last  display  of 
magnificence. 

"  That's  what  we'll  make  it,"  said  King  O'Leary. 
"  Schnapps,  steal  the  change.  Come  on." 

The  visit  to  the  theater  was  the  undoing  of  all  the  good 
work  accomplished,  nor  could  the  result  have  been  fore 
seen.  The  orchestra  was  comfortably  filled  with  an  in 
discriminate  scattering  of  transients,  plainly  marooned, 
and  the  three  friends,  being  resolved  to  laughter,  ap 
plauded  the  opening  numbers  with  such  zest  that  they 
woke  up  the  torpid  house  and  had  the  entertainers  grate 
fully  aiming  their  shafts  in  the  direction  of  their  box  for 
the  pure  joy  of  rousing  King  O'Leary's  soul-filling,  rum 
bling  laughter,  to  hear  which  was  infection  itself.  The 
outer  world,  the  season,  and  the  calendar  had  been  shut 
away  as  they  roared  over  the  grotesque  tumbles  and  trip 
pings  of  a  comic  acrobat  who  gyrated  fearfully  on  a  bi 
cycle  the  size  of  a  house,  when  the  curtain  went  down 


34  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

and  up  again  on  the  Lovibond  Sisters.  "  Sweet  Singers 
from  the  South,"  who,  according  to  the  program,  "  would 
introduce  sentimental  favorites." 

All  their  mirth  vanished.  They  waited  glumly  through 
"  Annie  Laurie,"  and  fidgeted  as  the  quartet  quavered 
into  "  Way  Down  Upon  the  Suwanee  River,"  but  when 
"  My  Old  Kentucky  Home  "  began,  with  moonlight  ef 
fects  on  the  back  drop  and  cowbells  tinkling,  O'Leary  got 
up  suddenly  and  said : 

"Hell!     Let's  beat  it." 

They  emerged  glumly  on  the  sidewalk,  while  Flick 
swore  copiously  for  the  crowd  and  led  the  way  down  the 
avenue  to  Campeau's,  where  they  found  a  table  in  a 
noisy  gathering  thundered  over  by  a  dynamic  orchestra. 

"  OXeary,  it's  no  use,"  said  Flick;  "  we  can't  get  away 
from  it." 

"  Guess  you're  right." 

They  stayed  there  a  long  while,  passing  into  the  confi 
dential  stage,  while  Tootles  consumed  large  quantities  of 
ginger  ale  and  sought  desperately  to  stem  the  rising  tide, 
which  came  rolling  in  blackly.  They  had  yielded  to  their 
depression,  reveling  in  it.  While  King  O'Leary  listened, 
jerking  at  his  fingers,  Flick  reminisced  of  forgotten  days 
in  a  little  Western  town,  of  white  Christmases  when  the 
relations  gathered  in  jingling  sleighs  and  the  table  was 
crowned  with  a  wild  turkey  at  one  end  and  a  crackling  pig 
at  the  other. 

"  With  a  roast  apple  in  his  snout,  and  a  ribbon  —  a  blue 
—  no,  a  pink  ribbon  decorating  his  ornery  little  tail. 
King,  I  can  taste  that  pig  yet  —  fact  —  good  pig  —  good 
old  pig!  What  did  we  use  to  call  him?  Can't  remem 
ber."  He  went  off  into  a  foggy  search,  dipping  his  finger 
in  a  puddle  of  water  on  the  table  and  seeking  to  recon 
struct  it  in  the  shape  of  his  remembered  idol.  "  Looked 
like  that  —  just  so.  There's  the  tail  —  see  ?  We  used  to 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  35 

fight  to  get  that  tail,  Lem,  Minnie,  and  me  — "  He  sud 
denly  looked  up,  as  though  conscious  of  O'Leary's  star 
ing  silence.  "  I  say,  did  you  used  to  have  pig  — 
roast  pig?  No?  Well,  what  sort  of  Christmas  did  you 
have?" 

"  There  was  only  one  that  counted/'  said  King 
O'Leary,  frowning  stubbornly,  "  and  that,  son,  we  won't 
talk  about." 

"Why  not?"  said  Flick  indignantly.  He  added,  as 
though  in  his  clouded  brain  he  had  found  the  answer, 
"  Secret  sorrow  —  that  it  ?  " 

"  Call  it  that." 

The  news  seemed  further  to  depress  Flick.  He  con 
templated  the  shining  plate  with  deep  commiseration,, 
shaking  his  head. 

"  All  right.  Sorry  —  mighty  sorry.  Felt  that  right 
off  about  you.  Fact !  Shake  —  shake  hands." 

Tootles  watched  Flick,  a  little  maudlin,  silently  offer 
his  hand  to  King  O'Leary,  who  took  it  glumly  and 
abruptly  arose  as  though  shaking  off  a  leaden  weight, 
saying : 

"  Well,  I've  had  enough  of  this  place.     Beat  it  again." 

They  began  to  wander,  east  and  west,  up-town  and 
down-town,  seeking  memory's  oblivion,  finding  it  always 
dogging  their  heels  —  a  rapid,  confused  passage  through, 
lighted  restaurants  and  noisy  cafes,  with  momentary  junc 
tions  in  casual  parties.  They  ended  up  in  an  all-night 
restaurant,  where  King  O'Leary  took  possession  of  the 
piano,  Tootles  conducting  the  orchestra,  while  Flick,  with 
pompous  dignity,  singled  out  the  fattest  and  oldest  ladies 
and  made  them  a  bow,  saying  with  terrific  dignity: 

"  Madam,  will  you  accord  me  the  honor  of  this  dance? 
No?  I  am  sorry  —  very  sorry,  but  thank  you,  thank 
you  perfectly  jus'  same." 

Tootles,  finally,  in  the  wee  hours,  coaxed  them  back 


36  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

to  the  Arcade  (after  many  a  slip),  and  woke  up  Sassa 
fras,  whose  fee  for  such  gala  performances  was  half  a 
dollar.  But  on  the  threshold  of  the  elevator  King 
O'Leary  suddenly  remembered  the  alarming  ascent  of  the 
afternoon  and  hastily  imparted  the  information  to  Flick, 
saying : 

"  Wouldn't  have  it  harm  a  hair  of  your  head,  not  a 
hair.  Understand?  Like  you,  boy.  No  harm!" 

"  Must  be  careful,  very  careful,"  said  Flick  solemnly. 
"Won't  stand  great  strain,  see?  That's  the  idea." 

"  I  see,"  said  King  O'Leary,  "  but  how?  " 

"That's  it     How?" 

"  Six  —  all  six  at  once  —  too  much.  Dangerous," 
said  King  O'Leary  sadly.  "  And,  son,  I  wouldn't  have 
'em  harm  a  hair  of  your  head,  not  a  hair." 

"  I've  got  idea,"  said  Flick,  all  at  once.  "  No  strain 
—  you'll  see  —  coax  elevator." 

Tootles,  who  always  remained  in  the  picture,  solemnly 
led  King  O'Leary  into  the  elevator,  saying  in  a  soothing 
manner, 

"  It's  all  right,  King;  we  all  trust  Flick." 

Wilder  was  so  touched  by  this  burst  of  confidence  that 
he  momentarily  forgot  his  happy  thought.  But  all  at 
once,  as  they  waited  anxiously  and  expectantly,  he  woke 
up  and  said  firmly: 

"Up  one!" 

The  elevator  groaned  and  lumbered  to  the  first  floor. 

"  What  now?  "  said  Tootles. 

"Out!" 

The  three  filed  forth. 

"Down!" 

He  led  the  way  down  to  the  ground  floor,  while  they 
followed  him,  mystified,  and  into  the  elevator  again. 

"  Up  two! "  said  Flick,  with  the  gleam  of  a  field-mar 
shal  in  his  eyes.  "  Out !  Down !  " 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  37 

A  third  time  they  entered  the  elevator,  mounted  to  the 
third  floor  and  solemnly,  like  the  King  of  France  and  all 
his  men,  descended  three  flights  and  again  rose  to  the 
fourth.  Again  at  the  bottom,  Flick  condescended  to  ex 
plain  : 

"  One  flight  at  time  —  see  ?  No  strain.  Always  be 
kind  to  elevators  —  see?  Coax  elevators." 

"  Absolutely/'  said  King  O'Leary,  with  the  dignity  of 
an  archbishop. 

Tootles,  inwardly  convulsed,  maintained  a  grave  facer 
assuming  the  tense  gravity  of  his  two  friends,  mounting" 
to  the  fifth  floor  and  carefully  descending  the  long  stone 
flights,  his  hands  on  King  O'Leary's  shoulders,  whose 
hands  in  turn  reposed  on  Flick's  scrawny  back,  which 
stiffened  with  the  sense  of  responsibility  of  a  chosen 
leader.  They  waited  solemnly  for  Sassafras,  standing  in 
dusky  line,  for  all  the  world  like  a  vat,  a  walking-stick, 
and  a  peanut,  until  the  elevator  sank,  gleaming,  to  the 
level.  Then  they  entered,  rose  to  the  sixth  floor,  and 
congratulated  Flick. 

Back  in  the  windy  corridor,  with  two  dusky  spots  of 
light  overhead  and  empty  milk-bottles  before  the  doors, 
King  O'Leary  was  seized  with  a  new  emotion,  an  over 
flowing  love  of  mankind,  and  a  longing  to  cheer  blighted 
existences. 

"  Poor  things, —  poor  miserable  things !  "  he  said,  con 
templating  the  row  of  shadowy  doors.  "  No  Christmas 
cheer." 

"  No  peace  on  earth,  no  good-will  to  men,"  said  Flick, 
seeing  the  idea  and  almost  moved  to  tears. 

"  Son,  we  never  thought  —  did  we  ?  —  never  thought 
of  that." 

"  Never,"  said  Flick. 

"  We  must." 

"  Absolutely,"  said  Flick,  who  had  been  struck  by  the 


38  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

word,  and  he  frowned  and  asked,  "  What  should  we 
think?" 

"  We  should  think  — "  began  King  O'Leary,  and 
stopped,  lost  in  conjecture.  He  repeated :  "  We  should 
think,"  and  turned,  looking  to  Flick  for  relief.  "  I  say, 
what  was  the  thing  —  the  thing  I  told  you  we  should 
think  about?" 

Wilder,  thus  appealed  to,  shook  his  head  mournfully, 
and  Tootles  had  visions  of  crowning  the  last  two  hours' 
labors  with  the  blissful  prospect  of  getting  them  safely 
into  the  studio  and  to  bed,  when,  as  luck  would  have  it, 
King  O'Leary's  foot  came  in  contact  with  a  milk  bottle. 
The  rolling  sound  revived  his  memory. 

"We  must  cheer  —  bring  cheer  —  bring  presents," 
said  King  O'Leary,  getting  at  length  to  his  thought. 
"  Every  one  must  have  presents  —  Christmas  presents." 

Tootles  here  interposed  hastily,  with  the  irritation  of 
the  sober  pilot  who  sees  the  harbor  of  rest  escaping. 

"To-morrow.  Good  idea!  To-morrow  we'll  get 
presents  for  them  all  —  fine  —  but  to-morrow !  Now 
bedtime." 

This  ending  was  unfortunate,  as  Tootles  felt  the  mo 
ment  he  had  uttered  it. 

"  Never  bedtime,"  said  Flick  indignantly. 

"  Presents  —  now  —  Christmas  Eve  —  Santa  Claus," 
said  King  O'Leary,  with  equal  firmness.  "  Go  right 
•down  —  now." 

"All  right,  then;  go  and  get  them,"  said  Tootles,  in 
despair,  and,  at  the  end  of  his  patience,  he  entered  the 
studio  and  shut  the  door.  "  Well,  they'll  come  back  in 
about  a  week,  I  suppose,"  he  said  angrily.  "  Three 
o'clock!  Lord!  I've  got  to  get  some  sleep." 

But  to  his  surprise,  in  about  half  an  hour  he  heard  them 
returning,  having  accomplished  the  upper  trip  by  the  same 
gradual  process.  He  peered  cautiously  out  and  perceived 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  39 

them  laden  with  paper  bags,  solemnly  and  reverently 
passing  from  door  to  door  and  placing  before  each  one 
orange,  one  hazel  nut,  and  one  raisin.  They  entered 
with  the  satisfied  serenity  of  good  Samaritans,  and,  per 
ceiving  Tootles  in  pajamas,  were  immediately  struck  by 
the  same  idea. 

"  We  must  put  the  child  to  bed,"  said  King  O'Leary. 

"  Absolutely.  Christmas  eve.  Children  should  be 
asleep  —  all  children." 

They  addressed  him  affectionately,  lifted  him  up  ten 
derly,  and  placed  him  in  bed  (Tootles  was  wise  enough 
to  submit),  tucked  him  in  solicitously,  and  chuckling  over 
some  plotted  joke,  got  out  three  stockings,  which  they 
hung  up  with  difficulty  and  filled  from  the  bags. 

Tootles,  peeping  over  the  coverlet,  laughed  to  himself 
at  their  grotesque  efforts  and  air  of  concentrated  serious 
ness,  waiting  until  they  had  fallen  asleep  on  the  couches.. 
He  arose,  listened  to  the  heavy  breathing  a  moment,  and,, 
being  of  an  economical  trend,  passed  into  the  hall  to  col 
lect  the  oranges.  At  O'Leary's  door  he  perceived  the 
end  of  an  envelope  and  drew  it  forth. 

"  That's  queer,"  he  said  to  himself,  examining  it. 
"  It's  neither  a  bill  nor  an  advertisement."  This  in  it 
self,  was  an  event  in  the  Arcade.  "  How  strange !  " 

He  placed  it  between  his  teeth  and  continued  on  his  mis 
sion.  But  as  he  reached  the  further  end  of  the  hally 
fronting  Broadway,  he  perceived,  to  his  amazement,  that 
the  oranges  which  should  be  there  had  disappeared.  He. 
stopped,  with  ear  on  edge,  listening  for  a  sound,  but  no 
sound  returned.  Then  he  went  along  on  tiptoe,  vastly 
intrigued.  There  was  the  door  of  Lorenzo  P.  Drink- 
water,  counsellor-at-law.  But  there  was  no  sign  of  any 
one's  being  up.  Neither  there,  nor  at  the  next,  which 
bore  the  names  of  Miss  Belle  Shaler  and  Miss  Pansy 
Hartmann,  with  the  placard : 


40  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

Out  for  lunch.    Leave  messages  with  elevator-man. 

Miss  Angelica  Quirley's  room  was  likewise  dark,  as 
was  the  next  of  Miss  Millie  Brewster.  But  opposite, 
through  the  foggy  glass  door  inscribed  "  Aristide  Jean- 
Marie  Cornelius"  a  faint  blur  was  showing  —  a  telltale 
streak  of  yellow  under  the  door. 

"  By  Jove,  it's  the  baron !  "  he  said  to  himself,  and  he 
remained  a  long  moment,  stock-still,  in  surprise.  "  Won 
der  if  the  poor  devil  is  actually  hungry.  Well,  if  he 
is  — "  He  yielded  to  the  good  impulse,  softly  placed 
three  oranges  in  line,  and  withdrew  on  tiptoe. 

Back  in  the  studio,  he  took  the  letter  from  his  lips, 
scanned  it  curiously,  and  then  inserted  it  in  the  stocking 
which  was  King  O'Leary's  by  right  of  a  desperate  scrawl. 
He  approached  the  two  sleepers,  drew  a  blanket  over  each 
and  stood  a  moment  studying  the  new  friend  who  had 
dropped  in  on  their  existence  as  though  he  had  fallen  like 
the  rain-drip  through  the  skylight,  drawing  his  own  con 
clusions,  neither  judge  nor  sinner  but  wise  young  phi 
losopher. 

King  O'Leary  lay  with  his  head  on  an  outstretched 
arm,  which  showed  the  green  tracings  of  a  tattoo,  the 
shock  of  hair  well  off  the  clear  and  friendly  forehead,  the 
face  flushed  and  contracted  in  a  painful  frown,  as  though 
still  under  the  fever  of  tormenting  recollections. 

"  Not  the  sort  that  bats  for  nothing,"  thought  Tootles. 
"  The  kind  that  drinks  to  forget.  Wonder  what  the 
deuce  is  back  of  it  all,  old  boy.  Well,  you  wouldn't  make 
a  bad  Santa  Claus  at  that !  " 

He  put  out  the  lights  slowly,  one  by  one  —  the  great 
green  Chinese  dragon  floating  in  mid-air,  where  it  had 
swallowed  a  bulb  which  gleamed  through  its  belly;  the 
twin  yellow  shades  on  either  side  of  the  door,  held  up 
by  brass  statues  of  Liberty,  sadly  tarnished  —  until  only 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  41 

the  four  yellow  eyes  of  the  owls  remained  glowing  out  of 
the  upper  darkness.  Then  he  cautiously  withdrew  the 
electric  button  from  Flick's  relaxed  fingers  and  extin 
guishing  these  in  turn,  tiptoed  over  and  went  gratefully 
to  bed. 


IV 

THE  oldest  inhabitant  of  the  sixth  floor,  so  ancient  that 
he  was  already  installed  when  the  present  Mr.  Teagan 
had  inherited  the  Arcade  from  his  uncle,  was  a  French 
man,  Mr.  Cornelius,  who  lived  in  the  corner  room  on  the 
court  overlooking  the  square,  which  had  one  economy 
that,  to  his  mind,  compensated  for  the  thunder  of  the  ele 
vated,  the  grind  of  the  traffic  and  the  shrill  of  the  news 
boys  which  rolled  through  it  —  a  providential  arc-light, 
sputtering  and  furnace-white,  which  lit  his  room,  once  the 
curtains  were  drawn,  and  saved  the  expense  of  lighting. 
There  was  a  tradition  that  he  had  at  one  time  occupied 
the  large  studio  at  the  farther  end  and  had  successively 
progressed  down  the  hall  to  his  present  quarters,  which, 
on  account  of  the  clamor  of  Broadway,  were  favored  with 
a  special  price.  Mr.  Cornelius  was  in  the  sixties,  of 
slight  build,  erect,  and  springy  on  his  little  feet,  mustache 
and  imperial  worn  in  the  manner  of  the  Emperor  Na 
poleon  III,  snow-white  against  the  dusky  Spanish  tan  of 
his  complexion  and  the  still  eloquent  eyes  of  mellow 
brown.  His  features  were  delicate  and  finely  chiseled, 
especially  the  nose,  and  one  eyebrow  was  noticeably  lifted, 
which  gave  him  an  alert  expression.  In  his  youth  he 
must  have  been  remarkably  handsome,  in  a  dashing,  wild- 
animal  way  that  appealed  to  women.  He  lived  in  seclu 
sion,  scrupulously  polite  whenever  in  the  elevator  he  en 
countered  a  neighbor,  but  opening  his  door  only  to  one 
person  —  Miss  Pansy  Hartmann,  who  had  won  his  con 
fidence  and  posed  for  the  dilettante  sketches  it  amused  him 
to  make,  while  she  read  mechanically  to  him  from  yel- 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  43 

lowed  books  of  which  she  understood  not  a  word  — 
Pascal,  the  letters  of  Madame  de  Sevigne,  and  the  works 
of  Voltaire.  He  wore  a  nightcap  with  a  tassel,  and  for 
days  never  left  his  room,  occasionally  appearing  in  a 
faded  peacock-blue  dressing-gown.  Each  Sunday,  how 
ever,  he  donned  a  Prince  Albert  coat  of  forgotten  lines, 
scrupulously  clean,  though  shiny  and  mended,  put  on  a 
black  stock  and  brought  out  from  some  treasure-box  a 
top-hat  of  swirling  lines,  such  as  the  celebrated  Victor 
Hugo  was  wont  to  wear,  inclined  it  slightly  over  one  ear, 
and,  taking  gloves  and  silver-studded  cane  in  hand,  walked 
magnificently  to  church  and  back  again. 

Several  things  were  inexplicable  in  his  habits.  No  one 
knew  when  he  slept,  while  curious  whirring  noises  were 
heard  over  the  transom  after  the  fall  of  night.  On  the 
first  days  of  each  month,  sometimes  for  two  nights,  never 
for  more  than  three,  he  donned  his  gala  attire,  ordered  a 
taxi  from  the  opposite  hotel  and  gave  orders  to  the  chauf 
feur  to  drive  to  Delmonico's.  When  he  returned,  Sas 
safras  always  noticed  a  gardenia  in  his  button-hole.  The 
rest  of  the  month  he  skimped  along,  no  one  knew  how  ex 
cept  little  Pansy,  who  by  a  pretense  of  feeding  the  parrot, 
which  was  his  sole  companion,  contrived  to  leave  daily  a 
third  of  a  bottle  of  milk  and  a  good  portion  of  bread. 

In  the  room  next  to  Mr.  Cornelius,  who  was  called  "  the 
baron,"  was  a  tiny  old  lady,  Miss  Angelica  Quirley,  who 
had  nested  there  for  a  decade  in  the  company  of  a  shiver 
ing,  jerky  little  black-and-tan  terrier,  Rudolph  (in  mem 
ory  perhaps  of  an  unhappy  romance),  who  was  known  as 
"  the  fire-hound  "  from  the  uncanny  instinct  with  which 
he  could  rouse  the  Arcade  with  his  yapping  at  the  slight 
est  smoldering.  Miss  Quirley  spent  her  time  dressing 
dolls  for  toy  shops,  mending  old  favorites,  and  painting 
into  china  cheeks  rosebud  smiles  to  gladden  the  hearts  of 
unknown  children.  She  was  all  in  a  flutter  when  she  had 


44  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

to  pass  any  one  and  began  to  bob  her  graying  curls  when 
she  was  still  yards  away,  until  the  gold-rimmed  spectacles 
all  but  fell  off  —  for  all  the  world  like  a  fairy  godmother. 
Children  would  have  flocked  to  her  knee,  only,  unfortu 
nately,  there  were  no  children  there.  And  so  Miss 
Quirley  went  on  bobbing  and  smiling,  longing  for  some 
one  to  listen  to  but  never  quite  mustering  up  her  courage 
to  approach  a  friendship.  In  the  morning  she  would 
peer  timidly  from  her  door  to  make  sure  that  no  one  could 
see  her,  before  hastily  emerging  in  wrapper  and  slippers 
to  gather  in  the  milk  and  rolls. 

Next  to  Miss  Quirley  was  a  lawyer,  lately  arrived, 
Lorenzo  Pinto  Drinkwater,  a  Portuguese  Yankee,  who 
had  an  office  on  the  second  floor,  and  who  seemed  to  en 
velop  all  his  movements  with  an  instinctive  mystery  and 
was  believed  not  only  to  exercise  the  profession  accredited 
him  but  to  be  not  averse  to  lending  money  as  well  at 
profitable  returns.  He  had  the  Yankee  body,  lank  and 
ribbed,  and  was  so  tall  that  his  head  seemed  always  look 
ing  over  a  transom.  The  face  was  handsome,  in  a  dark, 
gipsy  way,  and  the  eyes,  despite  their  shiftiness,  had  a 
certain  flashy  attraction.  He  dressed  loudly,  and  spoke 
in  a  confidential  whisper.  Several  times  he  had  sought 
to  open  a  conversation  with  "  the  baron,"  who  evidently 
had  aroused  his  ferreting  instincts,  but  Mr.  Cornelius, 
despite  his  usual  courtesy,  had  openly  snubbed  him. 

Across  the  passage  from  the  elevator  to  the  hall,  next  to 
King  O'Leary's  room,  was  the  home  of  Miss  Myrtle 
Popper,  manicurist  and  marcel-waver,  who  had  looked 
kindly  on  O'Leary  as  he  stood  in  the  Arcade  before  Joey 
Shine's  barber  shop,  wondering  to  whom  he  could  send 
a  present.  She  had  come  from  New  Hartford,  Connecti 
cut,  with  a  yearning  for  the  greater  advantages  of  metro 
politan  society,  tall,  clear-eyed,  a  Junoesque  figure,  un 
deniably  stunning,  with  her  youth,  her  vibrant  health,  her 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  45 

smiling  green  eyes  and  her  miraculous  coils  of  ruddy  hair. 
She  had  thoroughly  enjoyed  her  first  winter  in  New  York 
society,  and  was  slangy,  pert,  calmly  determined  to  be 
amused  and  as  equally  determined  to  hold  her  head  high, 
quite  capable  of  taking  care  of  herself,  a  democrat  by 
association  and  a  philosopher  by  a  native  shrewdness, 
amusing  and  amused. 

Across  the  hall  from  Mr.  Cornelius  was  another  arrival 
of  the  autumn,  a  migratory  type  of  which  the  Arcade  had 
seen  many  a  flight  —  Miss  Minnie  Brewster  from  the 
Middle  West,  who  had  come  to  New  York  with  golden 
dreams  of  an  operatic  career  and  who  paid  an  unhanged 
charlatan  the  sum  of  five  dollars  a  quarter  of  an  hour  for 
refusing  to  tell  her  the  truth  about  her  sweet,  toylike 
voice.  She  was  a  pretty  country  plant,  sadly  trans 
planted,  a  fragile  blonde,  with  an  angelic  face  and  starry 
eyes,  destined  for  simpler  things,  and  quite  helpless  when 
confronting  the  world  alone.  She  was  dying  of  loneli 
ness. 

The  two  models  who  roomed  together  in  the  adjoining 
studio  (whom  Millie  was  longing  to  meet  and  lay  awake 
nights  constructing  conversations  which  would  lead  to  an 
acquaintance),  Miss  Belle  Shaler  and  Miss  Pansy  Hart- 
mann,  were  daughters  of  New  York,  utterly  opposite  in 
temperament  and  inclination,  but  fast  friends  by  the  bond 
of  a  long  and  united  front  against  the  perplexities,  the 
trials,  and  the  tribulations  of  their  existence. 

Belle  Shaler  was  a  noted  character  in  the  art  circles  in 
New  York,  through  which  she  roamed  slangy,  cheeky, 
outswearing  a  man,  flying  occasionally  into  the  temper 
of  a  fishwife,  but  with  the  biggest  heart  in  the  world  — 
a  female  gamin,  up  out  of  the  slums,  always  ready  to  wage 
battle  against  injustice  or  for  misfortune,  speaking  her 
mind  brusquely,  a  terror  to  pretense  and  hypocrites;  a 
jewel  of  a  model,  with  lithe,  slender  limbs  and  delicate 


46  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

curves,  despite  her  sandy  hair  bobbed  short  and  the  up 
turned  urchin's  nose,  defiant  and  satirical.  She  made  her 
self  at  home  wherever  she  pleased,  carrying  the  gossip  of 
the  profession,  welcomed  everywhere,  in  the  studios  of 
celebrated  illustrators  on  the  West  Side,  in  the  lofts  of 
sculptors  on  the  top  floor  of  Healy's,  or  rambling  through 
the  outer  regions  of  Washington  Square  and  Greenwich 
Village  always  ready  for  a  spree,  brimming  over  with 
vitality  and  a  cocky  summons  to  the  world  to  amuse 
her. 

Pansy  was  of  opposite  type,  soft-eyed,  soft-spoken  and 
gentle,  without  Belle's  beauty  of  limb,  but  like  a  dark 
and  velvety  flower,  with  her  soft,  oval,  blushing  face  and 
Oriental  eyes  which  seemed  to  crowd  her  eyelids ;  —  all 
feminine,  a  virtue  by  which  she  had  made  a  deep  and  dis 
quieting  mark  on  the  impressionable  heart  of  Tootles. 
She  knew  little  of  her  own  life.  She  had  been  a  model  as 
a  child,  with  blurred  memories  of  older  and  harsher 
beings  about  her  who  had  long  since  faded  away.  She 
had  an  archness  in  her  smile,  and  one  eyebrow  noticeably 
uplifted,  in  a  manner  so  strikingly  like  the  baron's  that 
every  one  commented  on  it.  Indeed,  she  might  easily 
have  passed  for  his  daughter,  nor  could  he  have  treated 
her  with  more  deference,  punctiliously  surrounding  her 
with  formality,  always  leaving  the  door  open  with  osten 
tation  when  she  came  to  visit  him.  She  was  very  fond  of 
the  aristocratic,  lonely  old  man  with  an  impulsive  kindli 
ness  which  \vas  deep  in  her  nature. 

Between  their  room  and  the  abode  of  Art  and  Litera 
ture  was  the  home  of  Ludovic  Schneibel,  a  dentist  by  ne 
cessity,  with  offices  on  the  third  floor,  but  with  a  spiritual 
yearning  toward  art,  literature,  and  music,  and,  in  par 
ticular,  the  company  of  artists.  He  was  a  squatty,  fiery- 
headed  and  fiery-worded  Swiss-American,  in  the  forties, 
lame  in  one  leg,  and  given  to  velvet  coats  and  flowing 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  47 

neckties.  He  executed  fearful  compositions  of  Alpine 
storms  over  leaden  lakes  with  large  rainbows  in  the  back 
ground,  being  indeed  without  any  talent  but  the  love  of 
painting,  yet  selling  his  canvases  to  the  large  department- 
stores  to  set  off  their  stock  of  gilt  frames.  He  worked 
at  night  and  during  holidays,  singing  unmusically  senti 
mental  ballads,  with  occasional  outbursts  of  yodeling 
whenever  the  creative  fit  was  strong.  He  was  a  lovable, 
social  tramp,  and  any  rascal  in  long  hair  with  the  requisite 
jargon  could  reach  his  sympathies  and  his  pocketbook. 
Everything  to  him  was  an  enthusiasm ;  Tootles  vowed  he 
could  go  into  a  paroxysm  over  a  cold  potato. 

Down  the  hall,  at  the  extreme  back,  in  the  little  studio 
next  to  King  O'Leary's,  was  a  Miss  Inga  Sonderson,  of 
whom  the  Arcade  knew  as  little  as  they  did  of  Mr. 
Aristide  Jean-Marie  Cornelius  (if  indeed  that  were  his 
true  name,  which  no  one  believed).  Belle  Shaler  had 
posed  for  her  several  times  —  she  did  posters,  covers,  and 
decorative  sketches  —  and  had  a  peaceful  memory  of 
filmy  coverings  and  hangings,  harmonies  in  gray  and 
green  like  the  brooding  sea,  neat  couches  and  window 
boxes  of  pungent  and  bright  flowers.  She  seemed  twen 
ty-four  or  twenty-five  —  possibly  a  year  or  so  older  — 
repressed  and  contemplative  —  as  one  who,  contrary  to 
the  ordinary  prejudice,  never  used  conversation  to  think 
out  loud. 

Her  body  was  like  a  youth's,  firm  and  supple,  and  when 
she  moved,  the  eye  went  to  the  hip  immediately  as  a 
center  of  grace  —  of  that  flowing  grace  which  one  sees 
in  the  poised  female  figures  on  Grecian  friezes.  Her 
hair,  which  was  a  profound  black  with  the  depth  in  it  of 
a  forest  pool,  had  certain  blue,  furtive  gleams  which  per 
haps  only  an  artist  would  have  noticed.  She  wore  it 
braided  and  drawn  over  her  forehead  in  a  Swedish  coil, 
rather  severe  in  movement.  The  face  was  fragile,  un- 


48  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

usually  dark,  with  the  darkness  of  the  Northlander,  and 
two  things  were  remarkable  in  it  —  the  eyes  and  the 
upper  lip,  which  was  unusually  sensitive  and  the  first  to 
quiver  with  any  strong  emotion  which  was  elsewhere  re 
pressed.  The  eyes  were  the  blue  of  cold,  open  waters, 
with  a  mist  of  gray  —  like  a  curtain  drawn  across  her 
soul,  beyond  which  no  one,  not  even  the  man  who  came  to 
love  her,  ever  penetrated.  She  dressed  in  simple  lines 
and  quiet  tones,  dark  blues  and  black,  with  only  a 
broad  lace  collar  and  cuffs  in  neat  relief.  She  appeared 
haughty ;  Tootles  ,who,  as  well  as  Flick,  had  been  roman 
tically  attracted,  referred  to  her  as  "  Lady  Vere  de  Vere." 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  she  was  not  haughty  at  all,  and  ut 
terly  unaristocratic,  as  Belle  Shaler,  that  ardent  social 
anarchist,  admitted  herself.  She  was  simply  self-suffi 
cient.  Whatever  her  antecedents,  she  spoke  English 
naturally,  as  though  she  had  been  born  to  it,  with  a  low, 
rather  guttural,  but  pleasant  note,  curiously  soothing ;  and 
yet  she  might  have  been  a  waif  from  a  distant  Scandi 
navian  region  of  encroaching  night  and  wan,  midnight 
days.  Despite  their  curiosity,  no  one  would  have 
dreamed  of  questioning  her,  not  even  Belle  Shaler,  who 
was  unaccountably  silent  under  the  sea-blue  eyes  which 
looked  out  at  her  as  though  through  a  mist. 

Opposite  this  room,  at  the  back  corner,  was  the  show 
studio  of  the  Arcade.  A  genius  now  passed  into  society 
had  inhabited  it,  and  the  tradition  remained.  Yet  it  had 
had  an  unlucky  history.  Those  who  had  held  it  had  not 
held  it  long,  and  the  last  occupant,  a  friend  of  Inga  Son- 
derson's,  Champeno,  a  young  sculptor  of  great  promise, 
had  disappeared  under  a  cloud,  leaving  his  furniture  in 
forfeit.  For  a  month  it  had  stood  empty,  until  several 
days  before  the  opening  of  this  story,  when  the  rumor 
went  around  that  it  had  been  let  to  an  artist  by  the  name 
of  Dangerfield,  and  the  curiosity  of  the  Arcade  was  fur- 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  49 

ther  excited  by  the  appearance  of  numerous  packing  boxes 
of  unusual  size,  suggesting  furniture  de  luxe. 

This  was  the  situation  on  the  sixth  floor  back  among 
these  social  stragglers  enclosed  in  narrow  prisons  of  their 
own  choosing,  secretly  yearning  for  each  other's  com 
pany,  when  on  Christmas  day,  invitations  issued  jointly 
by  Mr.  St.  George  Kidder,  Mr.  Flick  Wilder,  and  Mr. 
King  O'Leary  fell  among  them  like  carnival  bombs. 


V 

THERE  was  only  one  thing  in  life  that  bothered 
Tootles  greatly,  and  that  was  the  getting  out  of  bed  in 
the  morning.  It  was  high  noon  by  a  shaft  of  sunlight 
that  beat  persistently  on  his  Wellingtonian  nose,  when  he 
finally  determined  to  try  the  influence  of  mind  over  mat 
ter  according  to  a  method  all  his  own. 

"  I  see  myself  skipping  gracefully  over  to  the  wash 
basin,"  he  said  aloud. 

The  Mind  was  attentive,  but  Matter  did  not  bulge. 
He  decided  to  modify  the  test. 

"  I  see  myself  standing  proudly  on  my  own  feet  by  the 
side  of  my  bed." 

Still  no  result. 

"  I  see  one  of  my  legs  thrust  from  the  covers,"  he  per 
sisted,  in  the  line  of  the  best  psychopathic  suggestion. 
Immediately,  one  lavender  pa  jama  emerged.  "  I  see  both 
of  my  legs  out.  I  see  myself  raising  myself  to  a  sitting 
position,"  he  continued  triumphantly,  and,  suiting  the 
action  to  the  word,  he  sat  bolt  upright.  At  the  same 
moment,  King  O'Leary  rose  to  a  sitting  position.  They 
confronted  each  other  thus  drowsily  a  moment,  and  then 
smiled,  and  the  smile  seemed  to  descend  over  the  acci 
dental  meeting  with  the  binding  cement  of  friendship. 

"  Well,  Santa  Claus,  how  are  you?  "  said  Tootles,  with 
the  superior  cruelty  of  the  teetotaler. 

King  O'Leary  made  a  wry  face,  and  ran  his  hand 
nervously  through  his  hair. 

"  Was  I  pretty  bad  last  night?  " 

"  My  boy,  I  thought  you  were  charming,"  said  Tootles, 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  51 

encouragingly,  "  particularly  when  you  put  me  to  bed  and 
hung  up  my  stocking.  Mother  couldn't  have  done  it  more 
gently." 

"  Good  Lord,  I  don't  get  that  way  once  in  a  dog's  age !  " 
said  King  O'Leary,  rather  ashamed ;  and  he  asked,  nerv 
ously :  "  Did  I  get  to  shooting  off  my  mouth?  " 

"  You  talked,"  said  Tootles,  descending,  "  but  you  kept 
a  tight  lip.  You  said  nothing  you  didn't  want  to,  old 
cocky  wax." 

This  seemed  to  reassure  O'Leary.  He  rose,  shaking 
himself  together,  and  his  glance  fell  on  the  three  sus 
pended  socks  bulging  grotesquely. 

"  Did  I  do  that?  "  he  said,  with  a  wan  smile. 

"  Don't  you  remember  playing  Santa  Claus  up  and 
down  the  hall?" 

"  No ;  but  I  remember  something  about  riding  miles 
and  miles  in  an  elevator." 

Flick  Wilder  now  began  to  return,  talking  violently  and 
flopping  about  in  the  last  stages  of  a  nightmare. 

"  Whoa  there !  Catch  him !  Hold  on  to  him !  Don't 
let  go  of  him  —  head  off  that  camel !  " 

"  Wake  up!  "  said  Tootles,  shaking  him.  "  Where  do 
you  think  you  are?" 

"Where's  Sassafras?"  said  Flick  frantically,  betwixt 
the  dream  and  the  reality.  "  Good  Lord,  I  thought  that 
elevator  had  broken  loose  —  riding  him  down  Broadway, 
when  he  turned  into  Elsie,  the  camel !  " 

He  stared  at  King  O'Leary  a  moment  in  confusion, 
and  then  a  light  dawned. 

"  Oh,  hello !  Well,  King,  you're  the  real  guy.  How 
are  you?  " 

"  Fine,"  said  King  O'Leary,  as  cheerfully  as  such  an 
swers  are  given  the  morning  after. 

"  Art,  you  may  start  the  coffee,"  said  Flick,  yawning. 
"  What's  that  —  oranges  ?  " 


52  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

"You  don't  remember  decorating  the  hall?"  said 
Tootles,  lighting  the  percolator. 

"  I  do,"  said  Flick,  whose  memory  was  remarkable. 
He  added  sternly:  "King,  the  infant  has  stolen  our 
Christmas  presents  —  presents  we  gave  the  floor.  All 
our  kind  intentions  are  beaten  by  this  son  of  a  thief." 

"  I  may  have  taken  away  the  Christmas  presents,"  said 
Tootles  unfeelingly,  "  but  I  was  thinking  of  Christmas 
breakfast,  likewise  Christmas  lunch  and  Christmas  din 
ner." 

King  O'Leary  immediately,  with  an  air  of  great  ap 
prehension,  dove  into  his  clothes,  while  they  awaited  the 
result  of  the  search  with  increasing  anxiety. 

O'Leary  straightened  up,  displaying  a  last  remaining 
handful  of  small  coin. 

"  Shake  yourself,"  said  Flick,  alarmed. 

"  You  fed  one  greenback  to  a  cab-horse  down  at  the 
Cafe  Boulevard,"  said  Tootles,  trying  to  be  helpful. 

"  Seventy-nine  cents,"  said  King  O'Leary  ruefully. 

"  You  can  buy  a  lot  of  peanuts  for  that,"  said  Flick, 
"  and,  believe  me,  peanuts  are  nourishing." 

"  Beans  are  cheap,  so  is  macaroni,"  said  Tootles,  con 
sidering.  "  We  might  get  three  twenty-five-cent  lunches 
at  Brannigan's  bar."  By  this,  O'Leary  understood  that 
he  was  definitely  adopted  by  virtue  of  the  axiom  of  what 
was  his  was  theirs.  "  Brannigan's  a  friend  of  mine. 
Might  stretch  it  a  little  if  I  offered  to  paint  his  portrait. 
What  did  you  give  Sassafras?  " 

"  Fifty  cents,  of  course." 

"  Every  time  you  got  into  the  elevator?  " 

"  By  Jove,  that's  so." 

"  Great  system  of  yours,  Flick.  Sassafras  has  got  six 
of  it.  Of  course,  we  might  murder  Sassafras,"  said 
Tootles  unfeelingly.  "Never  mind;  there's  the  stock 
ings.  They're  full  of  nuts." 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  53 

O'Leary  went  to  them  and  emptied  them  on  the  table, 
perceiving  the  letter  for  the  first  time.  He  took  it  up, 
looking  at  it  suspiciously. 

"  I  don't  like  these  things,"  he  said,  frowning. 

"  Neither  do  I,"  said  Tootles.  "  They  send  you  a  bill 
nowadays  like  a  billet-doux/' 

Flick  began  to  repeat,  doubtfully. 

"  Bill  —  billet-doux ;  billet-doux  —  bill." 

"  What  are  you  doing  now?  "  said  Tootles,  perceiving 
Flick  resorting  to  his  note-book. 

"  I  might  work  up  that  elevator  story,"  said  Wilder, 
who  had  abandoned  the  pun.  "  There's  a  meal  in  that." 

"  Yes ;  but  that's  to-morrow,"  said  Tootles. 

"  Kick  me,"  said  O'Leary,  all  at  once,  staring  at  the 
open  letter. 

"Perfectly  willing  to,  but  why?"  said  Tootles,  ap 
proaching. 

"  Kick  me  - —  bite  me  —  stick  a  pin  in  me,"  said 
O'Leary  wildly. 

"  Wish  it  was  that  fellow  Drinkwater,"  said  Tootles, 
who  availed  himself,  however,  of  the  first  alternative. 

"  Then  I  am  awake,"  said  O'Leary  solemnly.  "  Lis 
ten." 

Perceiving  that  something  startling  had  happened,  they 
gathered  around  while  O'Leary  read: 

South  Washington,  Oklahoma. 
KING  O'LEARY. 
DEAR  SIR: 

By  the  will  of  your  second  cousin,  Halloran  O'Leary,  de 
ceased  October  last,  I  am  directed  to  transmit  to  each  of  the 
beneficiaries  so  as  to  reach  them  on  Christmas  day  exactly,  the 
sum  of  one  thousand  dollars   ($1000),  which  I  enclose. 
Sincerely  yours, 

McDAviTT  &  COURTNEY, 

Attorneys. 


54  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

"Let  me  read  it,"  said  Flick,  while  Tootles  gazed 
anxiously  at  King  O'Leary,  in  doubt  as  to  the  effect  on 
his  heart.  Then  they  all  sat  down  and  looked  at  each 
other. 

"  Say  something,"  said  Flick  angrily,  at  last. 

"  I  feel  like  praying,"  said  Tootles  weakly.  "  I  believe 
I'll  believe  in  Santa  Claus." 

They  examined  the  letter  again,  passing  it  from  hand 
to  hand,  turning  it  over  and  over  in  a  sort  of  stupefaction, 
without  finding  a  flaw.  Even  the  draft  was  at  sight  on  a 
New  York  bank. 

"  King,"  said  Flick  reverently,  "  never  let  me  hear  you 
curse  Christmas  again." 

"  Never  again."  He  gazed  at  the  check  overwhelmed. 
"  My  Lord,  how  can  we  ever  spend  that  money !  " 

"  Art  and  Literature  will  help  you,"  said  Tootles  cheer 
fully. 

The  problem  was  a  terrific  one.  They  all  sat  down  to 
think  again. 

"  Boys,  we've  brought  each  other  luck,"  said  King 
O'Leary,  with  a  sudden  glow.  "  Here's  my  proposition  : 
If  you  like  me  as  I  like  you,  I'll  move  my  old  tune-box 
in  to-night  and  pay  a  year's  rent." 

Flick  and  Tootles  first  shook  his  hand  with  emotion, 
giving  him,  so  to  speak,  the  accolade,  and  then  protested. 

"  You're  one  of  us,  but  nix  on  that  rent  idea.  I'm 
firmly  against  that,"  said  Tootles.  "  Suppose  we  went 
up  in  smoke  ?  " 

"  But  how  the  deuce,  then,  are  we  to  get  away  with 
it?  "  said  King  O'Leary,  frowning.  "  If  I  invest  it,  some 
one  else  will  get  it.  By  golly,  this  time  I'm  going  to  have 
a  run  for  my  money !  We  must  do  the  thing  up  in  a  big 
way  —  one  grand  splash.  We  might  move  over  to  the 
St.  Regis  and  take  the  bridal  suite." 

Flick  was  visibly  impressed  at  this  possibility  of  enter- 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  55 

ing  society,  but  Tootles  turned  the  idea  aside  with  the 
suggestion  of  a  superior  craftiness. 

"  And  after  it's  gone,  what  good  will  it  do  you?  No, 
no;  spend  it  where  it  will  leave  grateful  memories,"  he 
said  wisely.  "  Keep  it  right  around  the  block." 

"  Them's  is  wise  words,"  said  Flick,  yielding  at  once. 
"  Tootles,  you  lack  a  heart,  but  you're  wise.  It's  a  won 
der,  though,  you  didn't  gum  it  all  by  stealing  those 
oranges." 

11  Pooh !  I'm  not  superstitious/'  said  Tootles,  while 
King  O'Leary  was  still  immersed  in  the  distressing  prob 
lem  of  how  to  get  rid  of  the  perplexing  windfall. 

"  I  am,"  said  Flick,  "  for  let  me  tell  you  right  now  that 
this  is  the  reward  of  virtue,  my  virtue.  You  needn't 
throw  up  your  hands.  It's  what  comes  of  having  a  kind 
heart.  Yes,  even  toward  elevators  —  always  remember 
the  milk  of  human  kindness,"  continued  Flick,  looking  at 
Tootles  reproachfully. 

"  Right  you  are,"  said  King  O'Leary,  with  conviction, 
for  his  faith  was  of  the  simplest.  And  suddenly  he  ex 
ploded  :  "  Flick,  you've  found  it.  By  golly,  son,  I'll 
tell  you  now  how  we'll  start  to  crack  that  check !  " 

"How?" 

"  We'll  have  a  Christmas  of  our  own  —  a  tree  with 
presents  for  every  one,  and  a  Christmas  dinner  with  a 
turkey  and  a  pig  —  yes,  sir,  a  roast  pig!  "  His  eyes  be 
gan  to  snap  as  he  enlarged  upon  his  idea.  "  Boys,  we'll 
have  them  in,  every  lonely  mother's  son  of  them  — 
daughters,  too!  We'll  have  an  orchestra  and  decorate 
the  studio —  By  jingo,  we'll  give  the  old  place  the 
greatest  shebang  these  regions  have  ever  known !  " 

"  King  O'Leary,"  said  Tootles  rapturously,  "  tell  me 
the  truth  —  are  you  Santa  Claus?  " 

An  hour  later  there  was  deposited  at  the  door  of  each 


56  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

room  along  the  hall,  to  the  amazement  of  each  occupant, 
the  following  card,  jointly  composed  and  decorated  with 
Christmas  designs  by  Tootles,  in  which  a  tree,  a  turkey, 
and  a  roast  pig  disported : 

WHY  BE  GLUM? 

GET  TOGETHER  AND  SWAT  THAT  GROUCH ! 
MR.  ST.  GEORGE  KIDDER,  MR.  FLICK  WILDER, 

AND  MR.  KING  O'LEARY 
INVITE  YOU  TO  A  LITTLE  CHRISTMAS  OF 

THEIR  OWN 

ONE  GLITTERING,  GUZZLING  GORGE, 
including  a  monster  TURKEY  and  a  genuine  roast  PIG, 

prepared  absolutely  regardless  of  expense. 
CHRISTMAS  DINNER  AT  7 

CHRISTMAS  TREE  AT  9. 
CHRISTMAS  DANCE  AT  10. 

MR.  FLICK  WILDER  will  carve  the  roast  pig; 

MR.  KING  O'LEARY  will  tickle  the  ivories; 

MR.  ST.  GEORGE  KIDDER  will  amuse. 

COME  AND  EN  TOY  YOURSELVES 
STAY  AWAY  AND  BE  DAMNED. 

R.  S.  V.  P. 


VI 

DURING  the  afternoon  King  O'Leary  performed  won 
ders.  Healy's,  through  the  mediation  of  that  friend  of 
struggling  artists,  Pat  (blessed  be  his  memory  along  with 
Abou  Ben  Adhem  and  the  Good  Samaritan!)  had  agreed 
to  hold  the  check  and  even  to  advance  a  hundred  dollars 
cash  in  consideration  of  the  magnificent  order  for  the 
evening.  Tootles,  who  was  left  in  charge  of  the  studio 
as  the  Committee  on  Decorations,  beheld  in  successive 
stages  of  amazement  the  arrival  of  a  Christmas  tree,  fol 
lowed  by  two  urchins  staggering  under  wreaths  with 
trailing  red  ribbons  and  green  garlands  sufficient  to  deco 
rate  a  theater,  an  immense  clump  of  mistletoe,  which  he 
immediately  suspended  to  the  snout  of  the  Chinese 
dragon;  and  while  he  was  yet  in  the  throes  of  apprehen 
sion  that  King  O'Leary's  thousand  dollars  had  been  dissi 
pated,  a  brigade  of  waiters  arrived,  who  built  up,  as 
though  by  magic,  a  table  capable  of  seating  a  score.  On 
top  of  this  followed  two  florists  (one  evidently  having 
proven  incapable  of  filling  King  O'Leary's  desires),  who 
further  transformed  the  studio  with  potted  flowers  and 
palms  and  left  a  moist,  tissue-filled  box  redolent  with 
boutonnieres. 

By  five  o'clock  acceptances  had  come  in  from  every  one 
except  Drinkwater  and  Inga  Sonderson  —  and  also  Dan- 
gerfield,  who,  however,  had  probably  not  yet  moved  in. 
At  six,  Flick  and  King  O'Leary,  returning  laden  with 
presents,  stopped  at  the  door  with  exclamations  of  won 
der  at  the  miracle  they  themselves  had  wrought.  The 
studio  had  disappeared  under  the  verdant  arbor,  while  a 


58  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

wonderful  spangled  tree  rose  like  a  fairy  dream,  in  one 
corner.  In  the  center  the  snowy  white  spread  of  the 
table,  sparkling  with  silver  and  the  glass  that  snuggled 
among  the  green  decorations,  seemed  prepared  for  a  ducal 
banquet  in  some  sylvan  hunting-lodge. 

At  seven  o'clock  the  guests  arrived:  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Teagan,  who  had  been  especially  and  strategically  invited 
—  Mr.  Teagan  very  dignified  and  stiff  in  dinner  coat  and 
fat  black  tie;  Mrs.  Teagan,  rustling  good  naturedly  and 
beaming  forth  from  a  gorgeous  pink-satin  ball  gown  with 
black  stomacher  —  Millie  Brewster  in  blue  frock  cut 
properly  high  and  loaded  with  flounce  on  flounce  of  an 
cient  lace;  the  baron  in  the  evening  suit  which  he  wore 
to  Delmonico's,  blue-velvet  collar  and  brass-buttoned  vest, 
with  a  cut  of  black-satin  ribbon  across  the  frilled  shirt ; 
Miss  Quirley  in  a  marvelous  black-lace  gown  over  a  pink 
silk  foundation,  with  dainty  wristlets ;  Schneibel  in  green- 
velvet  smoking-jacket  and  red  tie  of  a  totally  different 
hue  from  his  hair ;  Belle  Shaler  and.  Pansy  Hartmann  in 
evening  gowns,  popular  editions  of  the  latest  styles,  pre 
sented  to  them  by  illustrators  in  search  of  heroines  of 
high  society;  while  Tootles,  who  did  the  honors,  moved 
among  them  like  a  dancing  master,  more  English  than 
ever  in  a  snug  dinner  coat,  with  his  chin  reposing  on  a 
high  white  stockade.  Flick  had  dressed  for  the  evening 
by  the  simple  expedient  of  adding  a  boutonniere  to  his 
faithful  (the  expression  is  his)  ruddy  chestnut  suit, 
eclipsing  King  O'Leary,  who  remained  the  roving  demo 
crat  that  he  was.  Finally,  Myrtle  Popper  arrived  the  last, 
on  a  calculated  entrance,  towering  in  mauve,  loaded  with 
brooches  and  sparklers  and  distilling  perfume. 

Once  gathered,  a  certain  unease  unaccountably  fell  over 
the  party.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Teagan  stood  alone,  clinging 
to  each  other,  as  Schneibel  roamed  about,  admiring  the 
back  drops  which  he  believed  the  work  of  Tootles.  Miss 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  59 

Quirky  looked  so  frightened  when  the  baron  tried  to 
open  a  conversation,  while  Myrtle  Popper  and  Millie 
Brewster  looked  each  other  over  writh  such  visible  amaze 
ment  that  King  O'Leary,  fearing  the  party  was  going  on 
the  rocks,  cried, 

"  Every  one  find  his  place  at  the  table." 

A  moment  later  each  guest  was  gazing  in  wonder,  first 
at  a  large  portion  of  caviar  ingeniously  reposing  among 
clusters  of  chopped  onions,  eggs,  and  lemons,  and,  second, 
at  the  following  menu : 

FIRST  ANNUAL  DINNER 

MENU 
Caviar  Celery  Olives  Salted  Almonds 

Turtle  Soup 

Oysters  on  the  Half-Shell 
Vermont  Turkey  with  Cranberry  Sauce 

Roast  Pig  with  Fried  Apples 
Baked  Sweet  Potatoes  Mashed  Potatoes  Succotash 

Lobster  Salad 

Plum  Pudding  Pistache  Ice-cream  Angel  Cake 

Demi-tasse 

Schneibel  and  Millie  were  visibly  alarmed  at  the  spec 
tacle  of  the  caviar,  while  the  rest  of  the  party,  before  the 
magnitude  of  the  task  before  them,  seemed  struck  dumb, 
perceiving  which,  King  O'Leary  rose  and  spoke  as  fol 
lows  : 

"  Friends :  You  have  noticed,  I  suppose,  at  the  head 
of  the  menu,  that  this  is  the  first  annual  feed.  Now,  I'm 
not  much  on  a  speech,  and  this  ain't  a  speech.  We're 
here  to  get  together.  That's  my  motto :  If  you've  got 
a  gold  mine  or  a  tooth-ache  —  get  together !  Let  some 
one  else  share  it.  Sort  of  struck  me  that  we  had  as  much 
right  to  a  Christmas  of  our  own  as  some  one  else  —  this 
is  the  answer.  If  any  one  doesn't  like  anything  here,  or 
anything  goes  wrong  —  blame  me.  As  for  me,  I  hope 


6o  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

you'll  like  me,  as  I  have  made  up  my  mind  to  like  you. 
And  after  seeing  a  lot  of  this  old  world,  I  reckon  one  of 
us  is  just  as  good  as  another,  and  if  I  brought  you  to 
gether,  why — " 

Here  he  stopped  suddenly,  fidgeted,  and  sat  down,  amid 
immense  applause. 

In  ten  minutes  the  party  was  off  at  top  speed,  every  one 
laughing  and  rattling  on  in  a  high  voice,  utterly  regard 
less  of  whether  any  one  was  listening  or  not,  as  though 
each  had  been  released  from  solitary  confinement  and  had 
to  talk  for  the  month  of  repression  endured.  The  first 
shyness  wore  off.  They  gazed  gratefully  at  King 
O'Leary  and  then  at  each  other,  wondering  why  they  had 
kept  apart  so  long,  so  utterly  happy  that,  at  times,  they 
stopped  and  caught  their  breaths.  To  attempt  to  give  an 
adequate  idea  of  this  mixed  conflict  is  impossible.  The 
room  rang  with  such  remarks  as  these : 

"  I'm  going  to  eat  that  lobster  salad  if  I  die  for  it." 

"  Tootles,  where  did  you  find  him  —  he's  wonderful !  " 

"  Waiter  —  hist,  waiter  —  a  little  more  of  that  there 
pig,  and  a  bit  of  the  bark!  " 

"  Teagan,  you're  all  right  —  here's  to  you !  " 

"  Get  out  of  my  plate,  you  dog!  Oh,  you  wanted  to 
help  me  to  some  succotash?  Well,  why  didn't  you  say 
so?" 

"  Whache  think  o'  the  swell  that's  movin'  in  at  the 
corner?  Didche  ask  him  to  the  party?  " 

"  Say,  I'll  tell  you  one  thing." 

"What?" 

"  He's  got  a  real  fur  coat  *—  real  fur." 

"  Did  you  ask  him?" 

"  Sorry  he's  not  moved  in  yet." 

"  Sure  he  is.  Didn't  Pansy  get  a  squint  in  his  studio? 
He  came  in  to-day,"  said  Belle. 

"Who  else  didn't  come?"  said  Myrtle  Popper  (who 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  61 

had  vowed  to  eat  lobster),  looking  at  King  O'Leary  from 
her  smiling  green  eyes. 

"  Drinkwater  and  the  girl  at  the  end." 

"  Oh,  her! " 

"  Lady  Vere  de  Vere." 

"  Sonderson's  all  right,"  said  Belle  Shaler  loudly. 
"What's  wrong?  Couldn't  she  see  you?" 

Tootles,  who  had  placed  himself  next  to  Pansy,  who 
looked  unusually  fragrant,  indignantly  defended  himself 
amid  shouts  of  laughter.  And  they  had  just  risen  joy 
ously,  when  the  door  opened  and  Drinkwater's  high  face 
and  roving  eyes  appeared. 

"  Sorry,  most  sorry.  Didn't  get  your  invitation  until 
just  now/'  he  said,  sliding  in.  He  spoke  just  above  a 
whisper,  every  fifth  word  interrupted  by  a  nervous  blow 
ing  out  of  the  breath  through  his  nose,  which  he  tweaked 
constantly.  "  Am  I  too  late?  " 

"  Not  at  all ;  you're  welcome,  Drinkwater.  This  is 
open  house  to-night,"  said  King  O'Leary,  with  out 
stretched  hand.  "  My  name's  O'Leary.  Come  on  and 
meet  the  bunch." 

The  new  arrival  cast  a  momentary  chill  on  the  group, 
a  new  element  difficult  to  assimilate,  while  several  re 
marked  that  he  came  in  as  the  thirteenth  —  a  coincidence 
which  many  later  recalled.  There  was  something  too 
eager,  too  effusive  in  his  greeting  as  he  made  the  rounds. 
When  he  came  to  the  baron,  the  latter  barely  acknowl 
edged  his  salute  with  the  slightest  of  nods,  a'  reception 
which  Drinkwater  did  not  appear  to  notice  in  the  least. 
When  the  introductions  were  over,  he  went  directly  to 
the  side  of  Pansy,  to  the  evident  and  rising  amazement  of 
Tootles. 

However,  the  tree  was  waiting,  and  amid  the  shock  of 
surprise  at  the  unexpected  appearance  of  presents,  neatly 
done  up  and  addressed  to  each,  they  momentarily  forgot 


62  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

the  unwelcome  element.  In  default  of  the  usual  bazaars 
O'Leary  had  returned  with  the  spoils  of  half  a  dozen 
pawn-shops.  There  was  an  old  black-lace  fan  with 
carved  ivory  sticks  for  Miss  Quirley,  which  so  exactly 
matched  her  gown  that  she  sat  down  and  cried,  quietly 
confessing,  in  a  burst  of  confidence,  that  it  replaced  one 
she  had  been  forced  to  sell  a  dozen  years  before.  There 
were  brooches  and  bracelets  for  the  other  ladies,  not  imi 
tations  but  real  silver  and  gold  with  genuine  stones  — 
which  left  them  enraptured  and  stupefied.  The  baron, 
Drinkwater,  and  Schneibel  received  stick-pins,  while 
Tootles  and  Flick  were  themselves  amazed  to  receive  each 
a  real-gold  watch.  To  escape  the  torrent  of  thanks,  King 
O'Leary,  blushing  and  happy,  bolted  to  the  piano;  the 
colored  orchestra,  which  had  just  arrived,  struck  up,  and 
in  a  moment  the  whole  company  was  whirling  around  the 
studio,  from  which  the  tables  had  disappeared. 

In  the  midst  of  the  second  dance,  Madame  Probasco, 
the  medium  directly  below,  rushed  up  in  stormy  protest, 
followed  by  a  Mr.  Dean,  a  pale  young  man  who  was 
studying  to  be  a  veterinary  surgeon.  Madame  Probasco 
\vas  a  fat,  roily  lady,  dressed  in  Gypsy  shawls  and  glit 
tering  ear-rings,  whose  yellow  corkscrew  curls,  streaked 
with  gray,  came  straggling  over  her  washed-out  features 
so  that  she  looked  more  like  a  wild  spirit  herself  than 
one  who  was  supposed  to  tame  them  and  call  them  forth. 
At  the  sight  of  Mrs.  Teagan  revolving  in  the  arms  of 
Flick,  and  the  landlord  himself  capering  with  Belle 
Shaler  in  a  step  absolutely  his  own,  her  anger  vanished 
in  open-mouthed  amazement,  and  before  she  could  re 
cover,  King  O'Leary  had  her  about  the  waist  and  spin 
ning  among  the  others,  while  the  pale  young  man  who 
had  been  craning  over  her  shoulder,  fled  bashfully. 

Sassafras  now  came  in  for  an  exhibition  of  double 
shuffling  and  a  visit  to  the  punch-bowl.  Mr.  and  Mrs. 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  63 

Teagan,  already  in  uproarious  spirits,  followed  with  an 
Irish  jig,  whereupon  Schneibel  volunteered  to  give  an 
exhibition  of  yodeling. 

By  this  time,  several  facts  were  apparent  to  all :  first, 
that  Myrtle  Popper  and  Minnie  Brewster  had  eyes  only 
for  King  O'Leary,  of  which  he  seemed  quite  unconscious, 
and  second,  that  the  introduction  of  Drinkwater  into  the 
group  was  destined  to  have  disagreeable  consequences. 
Tootles,  who  was  good  humor  itself,  was  in  a  thundering 
rage  at  the  lawyer's  continued  attentions  to  Pansy,  who, 
strange  to  say,  seemed  rather  to  relish  them. 

"  Damn  him!  Why  doesn't  he  keep  his  eyes  quiet? " 
he  said  to  Belle  Shaler,  who  was  trying  to  pacify  him. 
"  What's  he  trying  to  discover  around  here,  anyhow  ? 
He'd  better  be  careful  what  he  does.  Why  —  the  cheeky 
blackguard !  " 

This  exclamation  was  drawn  from  him  by  the  sight  of 
Drinkwater,  who  had  maneuvered  Pansy  under  the  mis 
tletoe  (which  every  one  seemed  to  have  neglected  up  to 
the  present),  availing  himself  of  this  undeniable  privi 
lege.  Tootles  started  forward  angrily,  and  there  is  no 
telling  what  might  have  happened  had  not  King  O'Leary, 
who  had  noticed  his  fury,  saved  the  day  by  catching  Miss 
Quirley  in  the  same  predicament  amid  shrieks  of  laugh 
ter.  Tootles,  in  the  general  scramble  that  now  took  place, 
was  forced  to  relinquish  his  grouch,  while  King  O'Leary, 
profiting  by  a  favorable  moment,  caught  Drinkwater's 
arm  not  too  gently  and  swung  him  around. 

"  Look  out  —  you  hurt !  "  said  the  latter,  with  an  ex 
clamation  of  pain. 

"  Sorry,"  said  King  O'Leary,  squeezing  the  harder, 
"  but  a  word  to  you.  Go  easy  —  you're  trespassing  — 
do  you  get  me  ?  " 

To  any  other,  Drinkwater  might  have  returned  an  im 
pudent  answer  —  one  indeed  was  on  his  lips;  but  he 


64  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

looked  a  second  time  at  King  O'Leary's  steady  eyes, 
scowled,  and  turned  away,  for  a  while  at  least  devoting 
himself  elsewhere.  Mr.  Cornelius,  who  had  witnessed 
the  episode,  came  to  King  O'Leary  and  offered  his  hand 
with  dignity. 

"  Thanks,  Meester  O'Leary.  If  you  had  not  do  it,  I 
should  have !  The  man  is  canaille! " 

To  the  surprise  of  every  one,  Flick  volunteered  to  sing 
a  comic  song,  at  the  conclusion  of  which  it  was  voted,  on 
Tootles'  motion,  that  it  was  the  sentiment  of  the  assem 
blage  that  he  should  never  be  permitted  a  second  trans 
gression.  Millie  Brewster,  to  offset  Flick's  offending, 
was  prevailed  upon  to  sing,  and  chose  to  render  "  The 
Lass  o'  Bonnie  Dundee,"  which  she  sang  in  such  a  sweet 
if  slight  voice  that  a  sudden  gloom  fell  about  the  room,  as 
though  through  the  fragile  illusion  of  jollity  they  had  so 
courageously  built  up,  the  hard,  lonely  facts  of  their  lives 
had  suddenly  struck  in.  Mr.  Cornelius  was  tugging  at 
his  mustache;  Tootles,  whose  cup  was  overflowing  any 
how,  was  staring  glumly  ahead,  while  through  the  heavy 
silence  could  be  heard  the  sniffle  of  Miss  Ouirley  and  the 
throaty  sob  of  Madame  Probasco,  who  had  become  more 
and  more  human. 

"  I,  too,  will  sing  a  sentimental  ballad,"  said  Schnei- 
bel,  his  red-bobbed  head  glowing  with  redder  enthusi 
asm. 

"  No,  you  won't,"  said  King  O'Leary  resolutely.  "  I 
know  the  kind  of  stuff  you  love  —  moonbeams  and  grave 
stones  !  Nothing  but  yodeling  for  you,  old  friend  Schnei- 
bel!  Here,  we've  got  to  break  this  up!  Every  one  on 
the  floor,  and  all  tune  up.  Who  knows  '  We'll  all  go 
down  to  Casey's '  ?  —  Good !  Come  on  now,  knock  the 
blues  higher  than  a  kite.  One  —  two  —  three !  " 

"We'll  all  go  down  to  Casey's 
And  we'll  have  a  little  gin, 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  65 

And  we'll  sit  upon  the  sand 
Till  the  tide  comes  in, 
Till  the  tide  comes  in; 
And  we'll  sit  upon  the  sand 
Till  the  tide  comes  in." 

"  Right  over  again  and  faster,"  said  King  O'Leary. 
"  That's  the  way,  Miss  Quirley ;  you're  a  sport.  That's 
right  —  thump  the  floor ;  beat  time  anyhow !  " 

They  were  chanting  this  memory-haunting  snatch  for 
the  third  time,  clapping  hands  in  rhythm  and  struggling 
amid  laughter  to  get  their  breaths,  when  the  door  was 
flung  violently  open  and  Dangerfield  appeared,  top-hat, 
fur  coat  and  the  gleam  of  a  white  tie. 

The  chorus  died  down  immediately.  Every  one  was 
struck  by  the  strangeness  of  his  entrance.  He  looked 
bigger  and  rougher  than  he  was,  muffled  up  in  the  great 
coat,  with  a  flurry  of  snow  on  the  shoulders,  over  which 
could  be  seen  the  white  of  two  other  faces  peering  curi 
ously  in.  He  took  off  his  hat  slowly,  as  he  saw  the  com 
pany,  but  in  a  dazed  way,  and  stood  there  blinking  at 
them,  for  all  the  world  like  a  great  bear  wandering  into 
the  glare  of  a  camp-fire.  There  was  indeed  something 
restless  and  shaggy  about  him  that  struck  them  all  as  he 
stood  there,  staring  into  the  room.  The  head  was  full 
and  round  with  an  abundance  of  curly  black  hair,  grizzled 
at  the  temples,  with  one  white  lock  that  rose  from  the 
forehead  like  a  white  flame.  The  face  was  wide-spaced 
and  rather  flat,  the  yellow-green  eyes  were  deep  set  with 
distended  pupils,  very  animal-like  —  eyes  that  glowed 
and  set  in  sudden  fixed  stares. 

Evidently  the  party  had  startled  him  —  perhaps  it  was 
the  presence  of  women,  which  he  had  not  foreseen,  for 
after  a  moment  he  seemed  to  recover  himself  with  an 
effort  and  said  a  few  words  which  caused  his  companions 
to  scuttle  away  and  took  a  step  into  the  room,  smiling 


66  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

courteously,  without  a  trace  of  the  former  wild,  almost 
unbalanced  stare. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  owe  you  an  apology,"  he  said  quietly. 
"  My  friends  mistook  this  for  my  studio.  I  hope  you  will 
forgive  the  rudeness  of  my  intrusion." 

During  the  moments  which  had  followed  the  flying 
open  of  the  door,  the  entire  company  had  remained  hushed 
under  the  spell  of  the  brusque  incident.  Every  one  had 
the  same  feeling  —  there  was  something  out  of  place  with 
the  man,  dressed  as  he  was,  here  in  the  Arcade  alone  on 
Christmas  night  —  something  indefinably  wrong,  though 
what  it  was  each  would  have  been  hard  put  to  it  to  express. 
In  this  short  moment,  where  each  man  felt  that  he  was 
in  trouble,  there  was  something  about  him,  a  certain 
weakness  or  a  certain  childlike  wildness,  that  went  to  the 
heart  of  every  woman  present  —  a  quality  the  man  had 
of  being  lovable  (for  it  was  unconscious)  despite  all  his 
faults.  He  had  bowed  and  started  to  withdraw,  before 
King  O'Leary  came  to. 

"  Hold  up,  friend  —  you  must  be  Dangerfield,  aren't 
you?" 

"  Dangerfield  ?  "  said  the  new  arrival,  stopping.  "  Yes, 
that's  my  name." 

"  Then  you've  fallen  in  right.  There's  an  invitation 
waiting  for  you  in  your  room  for  this  same  shebang." 

"  An  invitation  ? "  said  Dangerfield  slowly,  and  he 
passed  his  hand  over  his  brow,  which  was  splendid  and 
open.  Many  noticed  the  effort  which  he  seemed  to  put 
into  his  words.  "  I  was  out,  probably.  If  I  had  been 
there,  I  assure  you  I  would  have  come  with  the  greatest 
of  pleasure.  It's  my  loss,"  he  added,  with  a  smile  that 
seemed  to  appeal  for  their  friendship. 

"  Never  too  late,  neighbor.  This  is  a  get-together 
party.  Drop  your  duds  and  join  us." 

"  May  I  ?     Thank  you,"  he  said,  but  he  continued  to 


THE,  WOMAN  GIVES  67 

stand  there  without  a  move  to  shed  his  overcoat,  until 
Flick,  who  had  been  watching  him  narrowly,  approached, 
saying : 

"  Let  me  give  you  a  hand.  Wilder's  my  name.  Glad 
to  know  you." 

He  seemed  to  recall  himself,  and  slipped  from  the 
heavy  coat. 

A  curious  thing  among  the  many  curious  things  of  this 
night  was  that  immediately  all  the  others  came  up  to  be 
introduced  to  Dangerfield,  with  an  instinctive  tribute,  or 
the  feeling  that  the  man  was  in  deep  trouble.  Drink- 
water  was  among  the  first,  his  nervous,  prying  little  eyes 
fairly  fastened  on  the  other  in  his  excitement.  Danger- 
field  shook  each  hand  cordially,  with  a  smile  that  seemed 
to  transform  his  whole  expression  into  one  of  democracy 
and  kindliness,  giving  to  his  greeting  of  each  woman 
present  a  touch  of  exquisite  deference. 

Then  a  strange  thing  happened. 

"  Mr.  Cornelius,"  said  King  O'Leary.  "  There's  a 
string  of  names  I  wouldn't  dare  tackle.  We  call  him 
'  the  baron.'  " 

"Mr.  Cornelius,  I  am  very — "  said -Dangerfield,  and 
then  raised  his  head  and  stopped  short.  The  baron,  too, 
was  staring  at  him  as  though  he  had  seen  a  vision  of  the 
past,  mumbling  over  and  over  as  though  dissatisfied, 
"  Meester  Dangerfeel  —  Dangerfeel " 

It  was  only  a  moment,  but  every  one  perceived  it,  while 
Drinkwater's  face  was  fairly  quivering  with  interest. 
Each  caught  himself  up  and  bowed,  but  for  a  moment 
across  the  face  of  Dangerfield  had  come  again  that  sud 
den,  startled,  bearlike  stare  which  seemed  the  frightened 
uprising  of  another  nature  struggling  within  him. 

What  happened  after  that  came  so  suddenly  that  few 
could  remember  it  clearly.  The  orchestra  had  broken 
into  a  rattling  two-step,  and  the  studio  was  shaking  with 


68  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

the  shuffling  of  feet;  Dangerfield  had  not  moved  from 
his  original  position,  and  remained  thus  staring  for  so 
long  a  while  that  most  had  forgotten  him,  when  all  of  a 
sudden  there  was  a  warning  shout  from  Tootles,  a  scream 
from  Pansy,  and  the  next  moment  Dangerfield  had  reeled 
and  fallen  with  a  crash  to  the  floor. 

There  was  a  babel  of  cries  —  some  one  calling  to  the 
orchestra  to  stop,  Miss  Quirley  sobbing,  and  the  baron 
calling  for  a  glass  of  water,  while  Mr.  Teagan  rushed 
to  and  fro  volubly,  doing  nothing  at  all  —  when  in  the 
midst  of  this  turmoil,  without  any  one  knowing  how  she 
had  gotten  there,  or  indeed,  noticing  anything  strange  in 
her  appearance,  Inga  Sonderson  was  seen  kneeling  at  the 
side  of  the  fallen  man,  examining  him  quietly  and  in  a 
businesslike  manner. 

"  He  must  be  carried  into  his  own  room/'  she  said, 
after  a  quick  examination.  "  When  he  comes  to,  there 
must  be  quiet  —  absolute  quiet.  He  must  be  gotten  there 
now."  Her  eyes  fell  on  King  O'Leary.  "  You're 
strong;  can  you  carry  him?  " 

For  answer  he  stooped  and  lifted  the  senseless  body, 
but  not  without  an  effort,  for  the  man  was  powerfully 
built.  Every  one  seemed  at  once  to  turn  to  Inga,  as 
though  recognizing  a  providential  authority. 

"Is  he  alive?" 

"What  was  it  —  heart-stroke?" 

"Apoplexy?" 

"But  is  his  studio  ready?" 

"  His  studio  is  ready,"  said  Inga  quietly.  She  nodded 
to  O'Leary.  "  Carry  him  in  now.  The  rest  stay  here." 
She  glanced  around.  "  I  think  the  party  had  better  end. 
There  must  be  quiet.  Belle,  I  shall  want  cold  cloths; 
and  Mr.  Teagan,  you  had  better  send  for  a  doctor.  Baker 
is  over 'on  Sixty-seventh  Street.  Better  telephone." 

Leaving  the  crowd,  flustered  and  frightened,  to  dis- 


L  .*•&:.:• 


It  never  occurred  to  King  O'Leary  to  ask  what  she  in 
tended  to  do.     Page  69. 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  69 

perse  into  whispering  groups,  she  went  down  the  hall 
to  the  corner  studio,  which  was  piled  with  packing-cases 
in  an  indescribable  confusion.  In  one  corner,  very  black 
and  white  in  the  glare  of  the  center-light,  was  a  four- 
poster  bed,  and  on  it  the  sprawling  figure  of  Dangerfield. 
She  went  to  it  straight  and  silent,  knelt  again,  felt  the 
pulse,  lifted  the  eyelids,  while  King  O'Leary  waited. 
"  Well,"  he  said,  as  she  arose.  "  D.T.'s,  isn't  it?  " 
"  Only  a  part  of  it  —  I  think,"  she  said,  looking  down 
at  the  powerful  figure  that  looked  more  like  a  stricken 
animal  than  ever.  The  curious  thing  is  that  it  never 
occurred  to  King  O'Leary  to  ask  what  she  intended  to 
do.  He  seemed  to  accept  her  as  a  fact,  just  as  naturally 
as  she  had  assumed  control.  She  stood  a  moment  silent, 
her  finger  on  her  lips,  looking  down,  and  then  drew  her 
self  together  with  a  sort  of  shudder,  looked  at  King 
O'Leary,  who  was  watching  her,  and  said : 

"  Undress  him  and  get  him  into  bed.     Then  call  me." 


VII 

IT  was  a  weird  ending  to  the  night  of  Christmas  romp 
ing  for  King  O'Leary,  sitting  breathless  on  an  upturned 
box,  his  elbows  on  his  knees,  chin  in  hand,  staring  through 
the  dim  shafts  of  light  at  the  two  figures  in  the  further 
corner  —  Dangerfield,  limp  and  inert,  head  and  shoulders 
a  confused  shadow  against  the  white,  propped-up  pillows, 
with  the  lithe  figure  of  the  girl,  straight  as  a  young  spruce, 
waiting.  From  the  time  O'Leary  had  placed  him  in  the 
great  four-poster  bed,  the  man  had  not  moved,  while 
the  heavy  breathing,  slow  and  regular,  was  the  only  sound 
through  the  stillness  in  the  room.  Against  O'Leary  the 
boxes  rose  in  craggy  somberness;  a  rug,  leaning  against 
the  wall  in  an  elongated  roll,  stretched  upward  like  a 
climbing  tree.  Bits  of  sculpture,  struggling  groups  of 
single  busts,  peered  down  at  him  above  heaped-up  chairs 
and  tables  in  such  confusion  that,  at  times,  he  seemed  to 
be  moving  through  a  fantastic  warehouse. 

Doctor  Baker  was  away,  and  in  despair  they  had  routed 
Mr.  Dean  out  of  bed  —  the  pale  young  man  who  was 
studying  to  be  a  veterinary.  He  had  come,  perched  on 
the  bed  like  a  shadowy  crow,  taken  the  pulse,  listened  to 
Inga,  and  departed,  after  a  wise  caressing  of  his  chin, 
without  committing  himself.  Half  an  hour  later,  after 
a  diligent  consultation  of  certain  books,  he  slipped  back 
and  beckoned  O'Leary  into  the  hall. 

"  The  best  thing  is  to  let  him  sleep,"  he  said,  with  a 
professionally  satisfied  air.  "  Give  him  all  the  sleep  he 
can  get.  Looks  to  me  like  nerves  —  and  a  touch  —  I'm 
not  sure  —  but  there  are  certain  indications  —  lips  blue, 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  71 

and  the  way  he  went  over  —  a  touch  of  heart-disease. 
Of  course,  it  might  be  acute  indigestion  and  then,  too,  he 
has  been  hitting  it  up  pretty  hard " 

"  I  congratulate  you/'  said  King  O'Leary,  who  had  a 
prejudice  against  the  profession,  and  who  returned  with 
out  imparting  this  expert  opinion. 

At  about  three  o'clock,  as  nearly  as  he  could  judge, 
Dangerfield  suddenly  awoke,  or  at  least  seemed  to  awaker 
and  sat  bolt  upright  in  bed,  staring  directly  at  the  girl. 
This  silent  confrontation  lasted  a  long  moment;  pos 
sibly  in  the  darkness  Dangerfield,  if  he  were  truly  awake 
and  not  in  a  semisomnambulistic  state,  was  staring  at 
the  girl  with  that  startled  animal  intensity  which  had  char 
acterized  his  first  entrance.  All  at  once  she  put  out  her 
hand  and  said  in  a  low,  softly  modulated  voice : 

"  That's  enough ;  lie  down  again  —  go  back  to  sleep." 

He  did  not  respond  immediately,  and  his  eyes  seemed 
to  wander  apprehensively  into  the  shadows,  but  at  last, 
perhaps  under  the  pressure  of  her  hand,  he  lay  back. 
In  a  moment  he  began  to  stir  and  toss,  mumbling  inco 
herently  to  himself.  She  leaned  over,  taking  his  hand, 
and  said  something  in  gentle  command,  and  presently  he 
became  quiet,  and  his  sleep  from  then  on  was  untroubled. 

Toward  the  first  filtering  in  of  the  dawn,  King  O'Leary, 
dozing  at  his  post,  woke  up  at  a  touch  on  his  shoulder. 
It  was  Inga,  looming  out  of  the  mist  that  streaked  the 
room,  like  a  dweller  from  the  sea,  one  finger  on  her  lips 
in  warning,  looking  seriously  down  at  him  from  her  sea- 
blue  eyes  and  dark  face.  They  tiptoed  across  the  room, 
looked  a  moment  back  at  the  unconscious  figure  on  the 
bed,  and  stole  out,  closing  the  door.  In  the  hall,  the 
dusty  globe  shone  sickly  in  the  watery  dawn. 

"  He's  all  right  now,  I  think,"  she  said,  in  a  whisper. 
"  It's  better  for  us  not  to  be  there  when  he  awakes." 

"I  —  I  guess  I  fell  asleep,"  said  King  O'Leary  awk- 


72  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

wardly,  a  little  ashamed  before  the  alert  and  young  fig 
ure  which  showed  no  sign  of  fatigue. 

"  You  really  didn't  need  to  be  there,"  she  said,  and  he 
noticed  there  was  an  awakened  ring  in  her  voice,  as 
though  a  great  joy  or  a  great  test  had  come  to  her.  "  Bet 
ter  get  a  bit  of  sleep  now." 

"And  you?" 

"  Don't  worry  about  me." 

"  I  say,  wouldn't  it  be  a  good  thing  to  lock  him  in  — 
until  later  ?" 

"  No,  no,"  she  said  with  some  emphasis ;  "  never  that 
—  that  sets  them  crazy.  Besides,  he'd  get  out  of  the 
window  and  over  the  roofs  —  there's  a  way  over  the 
tenements.  Then  there  would  be  trouble." 
-  He  stared  at  her  with  a  feeling  that  this  was  a  situa 
tion  not  entirely  new  to  her,  wondering  many  things. 
She  felt  the  weight  of  this  curiosity,  for  she  turned 
toward  her  door,  but  without  embarrassment,  saying : 

"  Good  night;  thank  you." 

"  I  say,  will  you  tell  me  one  thing?  " 

"What?" 

She  turned,  her  hand  to  the  door,  her  back  against  it, 
drawing  her  eyebrows  together,  and,  for  the  first  time, 
he  noticed  the  dark  pools  of  wakefulness  under  her  eyes, 
shadows  that  were  not  unbecoming,  but  gave  an  expres 
sion  of  acute  sensitiveness  to  the  fragile,  dark  oval  of 
her  face,  which  ordinarily  was  a  little  too  placid  —  like 
the  unmarked  stretch  of  new-fallen  snow. 

"  Did  you  know  him  —  before?  "  he  said,  with  a  jerk 
of  his  head  toward  the  corner  studio. 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  But  you  know  —  at  least  you've  got  a  guess  —  who 
he  is  ?  "  he  persisted. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  after  a  moment's  consideration ;  "  I 
think  I  know." 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  73 

Then  she  nodded  and  went  in. 

Everything  remained  deeply  quiet  until  about  ten 
o'clock  in  the  morning,  when  Dangerfield  awoke,  dressed 
himself  in  the  discarded  evening  clothes,  put  on  his  fur 
coat  and  top-hat,  and  went  down  the  hall,  searching  the 
inscriptions  on  each  door  until  he  arrived  at  the  room  of 
Mr.  Cornelius,  where,  oblivious  to  the  appearance  of 
curious  heads,  he  knocked  loudly  and  entered.  He  was 
there  fully  half  an  hour  before  he  emerged,  and,  return 
ing  to  his  room,  closed  and  locked  the  door.  What  was 
said  at  this  odd  interview,  no  one  ever  found  out.  The 
baron,  instantly  questioned,  replied  that  it  was  a  matter 
which  lay  between  them.  He  was  in  a  high  state  of 
excitement,  seeming  unaccountably  younger  and  making 
fearful  blunders  in  English.  His  answer  naturally  served 
to  increase  the  curiosity  of  the  Arcadians,  already  exceed 
ingly  intrigued  —  an  effect  which  was  further  heightened 
by  the  subsequent  actions  of  Dangerfield  himself. 

Hardly  had  the  surprise  of  his  visit  to  the  baron  in 
incongruous  attire  died  down,  when  he  came  out  of  his 
room  shaved  and  properly  dressed,  and  went  down  the 
hall  and  out.  Sassafras,  who  took  him  down,  vowed 
he  looked  just  as  natural  as  any  one.  At  five  o'clock  the 
same  afternoon,  as  the  three  friends  were  discussing  the 
one  topic,  Dangerfield  entered  unexpectedly,  and  a  curi 
ous  thing  happened.  He  came  in  as  he  had  the  night 
before,  without  a  word  of  greeting,  until  he  had  stood 
quite  a  moment,  with  the  same  startled,  set  look  that  an 
animal  shows  —  a  look  of  trying  to  take  in  mentally,  to 
comprehend  something  unaccustomed.  This,  however, 
passed,  and  he  came  forward  with  outstretched  hand  and 
winning  smile. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  gave  you  quite  a  shock  last  night,"  he 
said,  and  then,  evidently  forgetting  that  introductions 


74  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

had  taken  place,  he  added :  "  My  name's  Dangerfield. 
Seeing  that  I  am  your  next-door  neighbor,  I  hope  I  did 
not  make  too  bad  an  impression." 

"  This  is  free  soil  up  here,"  said  Tootles  cheerfully. 
"  Nobody's  business  what  anybody  does." 

This  answer  must  have  raised  a  suspicion  in  the  visi 
tor's  mind,  for  he  was  quiet  a  moment  and  presently 
asked : 

"  I  am  rather  hazy  as  to  last  night.     What  happened  ?  " 

"  Oh,  there  was  quite  a  christening  up  here,"  said  Flick 
sympathetically.  "  You  stood  around  for  a  while  like 
a  statue  of  Liberty  and  then  went  to  sleep  rather  vio 
lently." 

"  Did  I  do  that?  "  said  Dangerfield  gloomily. 

"  Oh,  don't  let  that  worry  you,"  said  Flick,  who 
seemed  all  at  once  to  realize  that  his  past  record  debarred 
him  from  sitting  in  judgment.  "  Thought  you  were 
damned  dignified.  Only,  you  gave  the  skirts  quite  a 


scare." 


"  I  am  sorry  for  that,"  said  Dangerfield  gravely.  He 
hesitated,  and  added :  "  The  fact  is,  I  get  doubled  up 
occasionally.  It's  a  nervous  contraction  that  stiffens  up 
my  right  side.  It's  nothing  to  worry  about  —  there's 
nothing  really  to  be  done.  The  only  thing  to  do  is  to 
stretch  me  out  and  let  me  come  to.  Did  you  notice  that 
my  right  arm  was  doubled  up  ?  "  he  asked,  suddenly  look 
ing  at  King  O'Leary. 

"  Why,  yes ;  it  seems  to  me  it  was,"  O'Leary  answered, 
looking  down  at  the  floor,  so  as  to  avoid  the  other's  gaze. 

"  That's  it." 

Flick  had  it  on  his  tongue  to  retort :  "  Old  geezer, 
struck  me  you  were  pickled,"  but,  for  some  reason,  he 
restrained  this  impulse  and  said  instead: 

"  Lingering  with  us  long?  " 

"  I  suppose  so." 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  75 

"  Going  to  sling  some  paint?  " 

"What?" 

"You're  an  artist,  aren't  you?" 

"  Oh,  yes." 

"  What  kind  —  cow,  sea  bathing  or  just  green  grass?  " 

Dangerfield  looked  at  him  a  moment,  and  gradually  a 
smile  broke  through. 

"  I  see.     Well,  I  am  only  a  portrait  painter." 

"  Like  Tootles,"  said  Flick. 

Dangerfield  glanced  at  Tootles,  who  acknowledged  this 
tribute  by  bowing  and  saying  with  dignity,  after  making 
sure  that  no  remnants  of  Wimpfheimer  &  Goldfinch's 
cartoons  were  visible : 

"  Quite  right.  I  do  portraits.  My  friend  is  one  of 
the  hopes  of  literature.  Mr.  O'Leary  draws  harmonies 
from  even  a  rented  piano." 

"  I  hope  you  will  take  me  in,"  said  Dangerfield,  with 
his  engaging  smile.  "  Perhaps  we  can  get  off  to  a  bet 
ter  start." 

"  You're  examining  the  impressive  mural  decoration  to 
the  left?"  said  Tootles,  following  Dangerfield's  gaze, 
which  had  suddenly  fixed  itself  in  fascinated  surprise 
upon  the  sunset  breaking  over  the  canon  of  Colorado. 

"  Your  work?" 

"  It's  not  my  work,"  said  Tootles  firmly.  "  It  belongs 
to  the  first  Hoboken  period.  Mr.  Flick  Wilder,  the  well- 
known  art  connoisseur,  collects  such  things.  You  may 
laugh,"  he  added,  perceiving  Dangerfield's  eyes  twinkling. 

"  That's  all  right;  but  you  should  see  the  walls,"  said 
Flick  defensively.  "  Well,  how  does  it  strike  you  — 
what  do  you  think  of  our  little  boudoir  ?  " 

"It's  great  —  it's  real,"  said  Dangerfield,  with  such 
genuine  joy  that  they  all  burst  into  laughter. 

For  half  an  hour  he  passed  around,  eager  as  a  boy, 
examining  everything,  marveling  at  the  owls  and  the 


76  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

Chinese  dragon,  which  Flick  called  the  "  belly-light," 
roaring  with  laughter  over  the  reconstruction  of  the  Har 
lem  bear  which  had  so  wantonly  attacked  Flick,  and  gaz 
ing  enraptured  at  the  signs,  the  lodging  box  and  the 
allotted  abodes  of  Literature  and  Art,  giving  his  advice 
as  to  the  place  to  be  assigned  to  Music,  which  was  the 
present  problem.  During  all  this  time  he  entered  into 
their  moods  with  enthusiasm  and  boyish  glee  as  though 
nothing  existed  outside  of  the  room,  nor  a  worry  in  the 
world.  But  all  at  once,  without  warning  or  apparent 
cause,  he  lapsed  back  into  his  former  moodiness,  seemed 
to  forget  them  completely,  and  presently,  with  a  sign  to 
King  O'Leary,  rose  and  left  the  room. 

"  Who  took  me  into  my  room  last  night?  "  he  asked, 
when  King  O'Leary  had  followed  him  into  the  hall. 

"  I  did." 

"By  yourself?" 

"  Yes ;  and  you  were  some  load,"  said  O'Leary  cheer 
fully. 

Dangerfield  was  silent  a  moment,  his  glance  wandering 
up  and  down  the  hall.  Finally  he  asked,  after  a  delay 
so  long  that  O'Leary  had  grown  tired  of  waiting: 

"  I  have  an  impression  —  was  any  one  else  with  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  there  was  — " 

"A  woman?"  he  interrupted. 

O'Leary  nodded. 

"  I  thought  so,"  he  said,  with  a  sort  of  sigh  of  relief. 
Presently  he  added,  but  with  less  curiosity,  "  Who  was 
it?" 

"  Girl  across  the  way  from  you  —  Miss  Sonderson. 
She  happened  along  just  as  you  keeled  over.  No  one 
knows  much  about  her,  only  she  seemed  to  be  able  to 
handle  you  in  first-rate  style." 

"  How  long  was  she  there?  " 

"  We  spent  the  night,  thank  you,"  said  O'Leary,  who 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  77 

had  begun  to  be  impatient  for  some  signs  of  gratitude  to 
appear. 

"  She  lives  here  —  you're  sure?"  said  Dangerfield, 
looking  at  him  intently. 

"  Sure;  opposite  to  you.  Look  for  yourself,"  said 
King  O'Leary  with  some  irritation. 

Dangerfield  gave  him  a  second  glance,  and  then  went 
slowly  to  Inga  Sonderson's  door  and  bent  over  the  card 
carefully. 

"  Yes ;  that's  right,"  he  said,  nodding,  and  went  into 
his  room,  as  though  that  were  the  only  point  to  be  set 
tled. 

"  Well,  you  certainly  are  a  queer  rooster,"  said  King 
O'Leary  to  himself,  so  perplexed  that  he  remained  scratch 
ing  his  head.  The  door  opened,  and  Dangerfield  reap 
peared,  coining  toward  him  with  extended  hand. 

"  Please  forgive  me.  What  I  wanted  to  say  —  what 
I  came  in  to  say,  was  to  thank  you." 

"Oh,  forget  it!"  said  O'Leary,  instantly  mollified. 
He  felt  the  grasp  of  the  other  man's  hand,  and  liked  him 
better  for  its  free,  powerful  hug. 

"  I  am  not  —  not  quite  myself  these  days,"  said  Dan 
gerfield,  with  boyish  frankness.  "  Don't  mind  what  I  do 
—  and  I  hope  we  will  be  good  friends." 

As  he  said  this,  there  came  a  look  of  pain  across  the 
eyes,  a  look  of  inward  distress  that  struck  O'Leary,  who 
went  back  into  the  studio,  however,  without  response. 

The  man  had  a  sense  of  authority,  as  he  had  authority 
himself,  and  there  was  perhaps  in  King  O'Leary's  heart 
a  shade  of  jealousy  that  the  memory  of  Inga  Sender  son 
and  the  way  she  had  gone  to  his  assistance  did  not  serve 
to  lessen.  When  he  entered,  his  first  question  showed  in 
what  direction  his  curiosity  had  gone. 

"  What  do  you  know  about  that  Sonderson  girl?  " 

"  Lady  Vere  de  Vere?  "  began  Tootles. 


78  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

"  She's  not  that,"  said  King  O'Leary  gruffly.  "  She's 
the  real  stuff.  Well,  what  do  you  know  about  her, 
Flick?" 

"  About  as  much  as  you,  old  life-guard." 

"  I  believe,"  said  Tootles,  who  assumed  his  English 
manner  to  show  that  his  feelings  wrere  ruffled,  "  that  there 
was  a  bit  of  an  attachment  between  her  and  that  chap, 
Champeno  —  queer  beggar,  and  shockingly  wild.  How 
far  it  went,  I  really  could  not  say.  We  hadn't  organized 
the  Sixth  Floor  Social  Club  in  those  days,  and  the  most 
we  chaps  did  was  to  remark  it  was  hot  when  it  was  hot, 
and  cold  when  it  was  cold,  and  there  you  are !  " 

"  Tootles,"  said  Flick  severely,  "  put  the  cold  soup,  the 
cold  turkey  and  the  cold  pig  upon  the  table."  And  turn 
ing  to  King  O'Leary,  he  said.  "  Well,  what  do  you 
think  of  Dangerfield?  How  do  you  make  him  out?  " 

"  Haven't  made  up  my  mind  yet,"  said  King  O'Leary 
shortly. 

"What  is  wrong  with  him?"  said  Tootles,  from  the 
provision-box. 

"  Booze!  "  said  Flick,  in  virtuous  condemnation. 

"  Not  entirely,"  said  King  O'Leary,  shaking  his  head. 
"  I've  seen  a  lot  of  booze-fighters,  and  helped  tuck  some 
of  them  underground,  but  I  never  saw  any  rum  hound 
just  like  this  guy." 

"  Maybe  he's  murdered  some  one,"  said  Tootles  cheer 
fully. 

"  That  would  be  more  like  it." 

"  Well,  I  think  he's  a  nut,"  said  Flick. 

"  And  I  think  he's  one  corker ! "  said  Tootles  enthu 
siastically. 

"  '  Corker '  is  not  English,  Art,"  said  Flick. 

"  Quite  right,  old  boy.  I  consider  him  a  jolly  good 
chap,"  said  Tootles.  "  We'd  better  have  the  girls  in ; 
we  never  can  eat  all  this." 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  79 

At  this  moment  there  came  a  determined  pounding  on 
the  wall. 

"  What's  that?"  said  Flick,  startled. 

"  Madame  Probasco's  spirits,"  said  Tootles,  who  al 
ways  took  an  extreme  view. 

"  Why,  it's  Schneibel !  "  said  King  O'Leary,  listening 
to  the  knocking,  which  was  repeated  with  more  insist 
ence. 

They  rushed  around  and  found  the  dentist  doubled  up 
on  the  sofa  betwixt  rage  and  pain,  gasping, 

"Dot  lobster  —  oh,  dot  lobster  salad!" 

"  That's  true,"  said  Flick,  in  a  whisper.  "  He  ate  half 
the  salad ;  I  saw  him." 

While  Tootles  ran  off  in  search  of  Dean,  O'Leary  and 
Flick  gazed,  fascinated,  at  the  unfortunate  man,  who, 
between  his  fury  and  his  agony,  had  turned  an  orange 
red. 

Young  Mr.  Dean  arrived,  and  immediately  began  to 
explore  for  symptoms  of  appendicitis,  showing  that  what 
ever  his  present  -incapacity,  he  had  at  least  mastered  the 
economic  theory  of  medicine. 

"  No,  no ;  it  ain't  de  appendix,  it's  de  lobster  —  de 
damned  lobster  an'  de  pistache  ice-cream  — " 

"  Has  he  eaten  that  combination?  "  said  the  pale  young 
man,  who,  from  the  last  twenty-four  hours'  experience, 
had  begun  to  form  a  professional  manner. 

"  And  more,"  said  Flick. 

"  Then  that  is  probably  the  cause,"  said  the  sub-doctor 
regretfully,  at  which  Schneibel  howled  out  an  oath, 
roaring : 

"  Don'  tell  vat  it  is !     Stop  it ;  for  God's  sake,  stop  it !  " 

"  But  how  will  we  stop  it?  "  said  King  O'Leary. 

Thus  confronted,  Mr.  Dean  looked  very  solemn  and 
introspective,  while  the  others  waited. 

"Well?"  said  Flick. 


8o  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

"If  he  were  a  horse,"  said  the  sub-doctor  pensively, 
"  I  think  I'd  bleed  him." 

"  Throw  him  oudt  —  throw  dot  chump  oudt !  "  cried 
Schneibel,  who  rose  up  in  such  wrath  that  Mr.  Dean 
whisked  away. 

King  O'Leary  had  the  happy  idea  to  resort  to  Miss 
Quirley,  who  came,  applied  a  hot-water  bottle  and  dosed 
him  from  three  small  blue  bottles  so  efficaciously  that 
in  half  an  hour  the  storm  was  over. 

They  sat  down  with  the  assistance  of  the  others  to 
vanquish  the  cold  remnants  and  to  plan  a  party  which 
would  complete  the  one  that  had  been  so  rudely  inter 
rupted. 

In  the  middle  of  the  meal,  King  O'Leary,  who  had  been 
singularly  silent,  rose  without  explanation,  searched  a 
moment  in  his  trunk,  which  was  stowed  behind  the  second 
Japanese  atrocity,  and  left  the  room. 

He  went  rapidly  down  the  hall  until  he  had  covered 
two-thirds  of  the  way  to  Miss  Sonderson's  room.  Then 
he  slowed  down  abruptly,  hesitated,  went  on,  listened  and 
finally  knocked.  Instantly  the  door  was  half  opened  and 
the  girl  appeared,  lifting  her  eyes  in  wonder. 

"  Here,"  said  King  O'Leary,  shoving  forth  a  little 
package  carefully  wrapped  and  inscribed  "  A  Merry 
Christmas." 

"  What  is  it?  "  she  said,  noticing  the  confusion  in  his 
eyes. 

"  From  the  Christmas  party  last  night,"  he  said  awk 
wardly.  "  This  was  on  the  tree  for  you.  Every  one  got 
something  —  please  take  it.  And  say  —  what  I  wanted 
to  tell  you  is  —  my  hat's  off  to  you!  Honest,  I  think 
you're  a  wonder !  " 

Before  she  could  answer,  he  had  actually  blushed, 
wheeled  clumsily,  and  gone  hastily  back. 


VIII 

ONE  evening,  the  third  after  the  party,  Dangerfield 
came  stamping  into  the  Arcade,  shaking  from  him  the 
snow  that  lay  clinging  to  his  ulster.  Inga  Sonderson  was 
already  in  {he  elevator,  but  beyond  one  of  his  character 
istic,  set  looks,  he  paid  no  attention  to  her,  to  the  active 
amazement  of  Sassafras,  who  stared  hopefully  from  one 
to  the  other.  Drngerfield  was  evidently  in  one  of  his 
worst  moods,  with  furrowed  lower  face  and  brooding, 
far-distant  glance.  At  the  sixth  floor  he  started  to  bolt 
out,  and  then,  aware  of  her  presence,  drew  back  hastily, 
saying, 

"I  —  I  beg  your  pardon." 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Dangerfield,"  she  said,  and  inclined 
her  head. 

He  started  at  the  name,  whirled  about,  and  peered  at 
her  as  she  stood  waiting  for  him  to  open  the  conversation. 
Then  all  at  once  he  went  past  her  rapidly,  and  was  at  his 
own  door,  with  the  key  in  the  lock,  before  he  became 
aware  that  she  was  back  of  him.  He  wheeled  abruptly, 
stared  at  her,  and  in  a  moment  came  toward  her  curiously. 

"Are  you  —  I  —  I  forget  the  name,"  he  said,  after 
a  moment's  attempt  to  recall  it.  "  Are  you  the  girl  who 
took  care  of  me  —  that  night?  " 

She  turned  under  the  glare  of  the  hall  light,  the  snow 
glistening  on  her  ulster  where  it  had  settled,  her  cheeks 
tingling,  the  dainty  upper  lip  quivering  with  a  faint  smile. 

"  I  suppose  I  am." 

It  was  characteristic  of  him  that  he  did  not  at  once 


82  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

thank  her,  but  continued  gazing  down  into  the  unfathom 
able  eyes,  now  black-blue  as  the  wintry  sea. 

"  Why  did  you  do  it?  "  he  said  gruffly. 

She  leaned  back,  as  though  withdrawing  defensively 
before  his  looming  inspection,  and  the  door  swung  open 
on  the  darkness  of  the  studio,  with  its  wan,  gray  spread 
above  where  the  snow  was  sifting  against  the  skylight. 

"  Some  one  had  to  —  didn't  they?  " 

The  voice,  though  not  a  cultured  one,  had  something 
peculiarly  soothing  and  pleasant  in  its  low  modulation 
that  caught  his  ear  and  left  him  with  the  desire  to  listen 
further. 

"  I  have  seen  you  before,  haven't  I?  " 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  That's  strange  —  seemed  to  me  I  had,"  he  muttered, 
looking  at  her  again  so  intently  and  so  long  that  at  last 
she  repeated  to  recall  him, 

"No;  never." 

"You  have  never  posed  for  me?" 

"  I  don't  pose." 

"What?"  He  looked  startled.  "Oh,  I  beg  your 
pardon." 

"  No  offense.  I  shouldn't  mind,"  she  said,  smiling. 
"  Well,  good  night" 

"  Wait."  He  held  out  his  hand,  and  she  gave  hers 
directly.  "  I  have  to  thank  you  very  deeply  —  though 
I  don't  know  at  all  why  you  should  have  done  it,"  he 
said,  shaking  his  head  as  though  seeking  from  her  the 
answer. 

Her  shoulders  moved  in  a  little  deprecatory  gesture. 

"  It's  just  my  way  —  that's  all." 

He  continued  to  hold  her  hand,  looking  at  her  as  though 
he  were  straining  his  eyes  to  distinguish  some  object  in 
the  fog.  She  did  not  attempt  to  draw  her  hand  away. 
as  most  women  would,  rather  taken  with  this  brusque- 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  83 

ness   and   assumption  that  was,   at  heart,  unconscious. 

"  Something  restful  about  you  —  your  voice,  and  the 
touch  of  your  hand/'  he  said,  as  though  to  himself.  "  I 
remember  now  —  that  night.  I  thought  it  was  an  hal 
lucination.  Yes;  I  remember  you  now,  quite  distinctly 
—  and  the  sound  of  your  voice."  He  added  abruptly : 
"  You  haven't  told  me  your  name." 

"  Inga  Sonderson." 

He  repeated  it. 

"  Really  ?  Sounds  like  the  sea  rolling  in  —  curious 
name.  You're  not  American?  " 

"  I  was  born  here." 

"  Shouldn't  have  thought  it." 

At  this  moment  a  door  opened  down  the  hall,  and, 
recalled  to  himself,  he  frowned,  looked  down,  seemed 
suddenly  to  perceive  that  her  firm,  slender  hand  lay  in 
his  huge  spreading  one,  and  said  hastily : 

"  Well,  thank  you,  anyhow." 

He  went  into  his  room  without  having  shown  anything 
more  than  a  little  wonder,  a  starting  curiosity,  and  much 
kindliness. 

They  did  not  meet  again  for  several  days.  He  made 
no  attempt  to  advance  the  acquaintance,  which  was  per 
haps  what  led  her  to  take  the  next  step. 

During  this  time,  the  Arcadians  saw  little  of  Danger- 
field,  though  they  knew  of  his  presence  by  the  unusual 
coming  and  going  of  men  such  as  were  rare  visitors  in 
those  sequestered  halls ;  men  of  that  outer  world  that  lies 
bound  between  the  iron  confines  of  the  elevated  and  lives 
from  Madison  Square  to  the  park.  In  particular  there 
was  one  man  who  arrived  in  a  resplendent  car,  accom 
panied  by  a  young  clerk  with  a  black  brief-bag  under  his 
arm.  At  such  times  loud  voices  rose  in  argument,  and 
they  could  hear  the  restless  fall  of  Dangerfield's  feet 
tramping  the  room.  After  these  visits  he  would  disap- 


84  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

pear,  returning  late  in  the  night,  unseen.  At  other  times, 
at  any  hour,  midnight  or  dawn,  he  would  start  from  his 
studio  and  begin  pacing  up  and  down  the  hall  in  slip 
pered  feet  that  made  a  dismal,  sifting  iteration  in  the  wee 
hours.  Once,  after  quite  a  group  had  been  in  the  studio, 
and  the  conversation  had  gone  into  such  a  high  pitch  that 
Tootles  had  heard  him  cry,  against  some  lower-pitched 
remonstrance,  "  He'll  do  it  —  by  God,  he'll  do  it!  "  Dan- 
gerfield  was  left  in  such  a  state  of  excitement  that  he 
passed  Flick  in  the  hall  literally  without  seeing  him,  his 
eyes  absolutely  blinded  to  objects  about  him,  as  though 
filled  with  the  obsession  of  distant  figures.  That  night 
he  came  in  late,  and  wandered  up  and  down  the  hall  until 
almost  four  o'clock  in  the  morning.  Whether  he  \vas 
drunk  or  sober  they  had  no  way  of  telling  —  only  twice, 
directly  outside  their  door,  in  startling  contrast  to  his 
silent  moods,  they  heard  him  swearing  to  himself.  It  was 
not  the  oaths  themselves,  but  the  stark  savagery  with 
which  he  ripped  them  out  that  caused  Tootles  to  whisper 
to  Flick : 

"  Literature,  it's  not  nice  to  swear  like  that.  It  makes 
my  blood  run  cold." 

"  What  the  deuce  is  he  going  through?  "  said  Flick,  in 
wonder. 

"  Hell  of  some  sort,"  said  Tootles  laconically.  "  Sup 
pose  the  Christian  thing  is  to  promenade  with  the  chap." 

"  Let  him  alone,"  said  King  O'Leary,  who  had  waked 
up  also.  "  Fellows  like  that  aren't  in  the  mood  for 
coddling." 

Immediately  the  sifting  slip-slip  ceased.  Probably 
Dangerfield  had  heard  the  sound  of  their  voices  and  re 
tired.  At  any  rate,  he  had  waked  up  the  whole  floor 
and  scared  Miss  Quirley  almost  into  hysterics.  No  one, 
however,  reported  the  disturbance,  though  each  had  been 
gruesomely  affected.  There  seemed  to  be  a  tacit  under- 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  85 

standing  that  the  man  was  passing  through  some  crisis 
and  should  be  left  alone. 

One  person,  however,  took  active  interest  in  all  Danger- 
field's  movements  —  the  Portuguese- Yankee,  Drinkwater, 
who  was  always  prowling  down  toward  that  end  of  the 
floor.  Twice,  when  conferences  had  been  going  on  in  the 
corner  studio,  Inga  Sonderson  had  found  him  outside  her 
door,  ostensibly  seeking  a  view  of  the  snow-capped  roofs 
of  the  tenements  that  rolled  grimly  toward  the  river. 
Each  time  he  had  mumbled  some  excuse  and  unwillingly 
shifted  away.  Meanwhile,  the  boxes  still  encumbered  the 
passage,  while  within  the  studio  the  same  heaped-up  dis 
order  must  have  prevailed. 

Matters  were  thus  when,  on  New  Year's  eve,  Inga 
Sonderson  returned  to  the  Arcade  after  a  solitary  supper 
at  the  Childs  restaurant  on  the  avenue.  She  had  no 
sooner  turned  the  hall  than  down  the  somber  stretch  she 
noticed  with  surprise  a  brilliant  swath  of  light.  She  went 
on,  wondering  what  this  could  portend,  for  since  their 
chance  meeting,  she  had  not  laid  eyes  on  her  neighbor. 
Through  the  opening  of  his  studio  door  she  could  see 
boxes,  furniture  and  bric-a-brac  piled  toward  the  ceiling 
like  wreckage  washed  against  the  shore.  At  the  grating 
of  her  key  in  the  lock,  Dangerfield  loomed  into  the  door 
frame,  dressed  for  the  street,  and  saw  her,  with  a  swift, 
appealing  light  in  the  storm-ridden  face. 

"  Come  in,"  he  said,  without  preliminaries,  as  though 
he  had  been  waiting  in  desperation  for  her  return. 

She  rather  liked  this  abruptness,  so  devoid  of  male 
coquetry,  instinctively  warned  that  the  man  must  have 
called  to  her  in  his  need.  He  had  returned  into  the  studio, 
as  though  sure  of  her  coming  She  entered,  closed  the 
door,  and  found  him  by  the  window  that  gave  on  the 
misery  of  the  tenements,  seated  in  a  chair,  his  back  bent, 
his  fists  doubled  up  and  pressed  under  his  chin. 


86  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

"  Talk  to  me,"  he  said,  in  abrupt  demand. 

She  stood  a  little  away  from  him,  looking  down  at  his 
suffering,  divining  the  forces  of  doubt  and  despair  wres 
tling  within  his  soul.  In  the  midst  of  the  surging  con 
fusion  of  the  studio,  they  were  in  a  shallow  clearing.  She 
went  over  and  laid  her  hand  on  his  shoulder,  holding  it 
there  until  she  forced  him  to  look  up. 

"  Let  me  help,"  she  said  quietly. 

The  sound  of  her  voice  seemed  to  arrest  his  attention. 
He  turned  restlessly,  his  hand  closing  over  her  wrist. 

"  Bad  night?" 

He  nodde.d,  and  his  eyes  wandered  from  her.  All  at 
once  he  rose  with  a  great  breath,  stretched  out  his  arms, 
and  then,  with  a  brusque  turn,  came  back,  looking  at  her 
with  even  a  touch  of  suspicion  in  his  eyes. 

"Why  do  you  want  to?" 

What  thoughts  might  have  been  in  his  mind  were  dis 
pelled  by  the  frankness  of  her  answer. 

"  Because  you  need  help  —  don't  you?"  she  said,  her 
eyes  never  swerving  under  the  shock  of  his  stare,  that 
was  not  easy  to  encounter. 

"  Take  off  your  hat." 

She  saw  that  it  was  his  curiosity  that  had  been  aroused, 
and  lifted  her  two  arms  in  that  wholly  feminine  gesture 
which  seems  to  accord  the  first  note  of  intimacy  to  the 
man  who  witnesses  it.  He  stared  at  her  more  intently, 
with  the  eye  of  the  artist,  quick  to  note  values  —  the 
massed  blacks  of  her  hair  and  the  odd  contrast  of  the  sea- 
blue  eyes  against  the  brown  oval  of  her  face  that  gave  to 
the  little  teeth,  when  she  smiled  her  serious  smile,  the 
lustrous  flash  of  milky  porcelain. 

"  No ;  that's  true,"  he  said  abruptly. 

"  What?  "  she  asked,  after  a  moment's  waiting. 

"  You've  never  posed  for  me." 

"  Do  you  want  me  to?  " 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  87 

"  No,  no ;  that's  all  over,"  he  said  moodily ;  and,  as 
though  the  allusion  had  been  unfortunate,  he  turned  fronj 
her,  bumping  against  the  corner  of  a  chest  which  pro 
truded. 

"  Great  Heavens !  What  a  horror  —  what  a  night 
mare  of  a  hole!  "  he  said,  gazing  about  him. 

"  Then  why  not  fix  it  up  ?  " 

If  he  heard  the  question  he  did  not  answer  it,  staring 
glumly  into  the  disorder,  his  fist  doubled  against  his  teeth, 
biting  at  his  nails,  a  convulsive,  aggressive  gesture  char 
acteristic  of  him. 

"  Let's  unpack  things  and  fix  up  the  studio,"  she  re 
peated. 

He  shook  his  head,  plainly  annoyed,  and,  after  a  mo 
ment,  came  back,  as  though  some  gust  of  emotion  had 
whirled  through  him  and  left  a  lull  of  fatigue. 

"  Talk  to  me,"  he  said,  sinking  down  limply.  "  Tell 
me  about  yourself."  But  immediately  he  broke  in  upon 
his  own  mood,  saying  abruptly :  "  So  you  think  I  am 
down  and  out,  don't  you  ?  " 

"  No  —  I  don't  think  that,"  she  said  gently.  "  That's 
what  you  think." 

"  Well,  I  am,"  he  said  vehemently.  "  Do  you  know 
what's  wrong?"  he  added  sharply,  and,  as  she  continued 
to  watch  him,  he  laughed  and  said :  "  No,  no ;  I  won't 
tell  you  that.  Find  out." 

She  laid  her  hand  on  his  shoulder  again,  to  still  the 
rising  excitement  in  his  voice. 

"  Why  didn't  you  call  me  before?  " 

"  Curious  voice  you  have,"  he  said,  without  attention 
to  her  question,  in  his  haphazard  jumping  way.  "  Wish 
you'd  go  on  talking.  It  makes  me  drowsy  —  feeling  of 
green  fields,  little  swishing  brooks,  and  multitudes  of 
silver  leaves  sweeping  the  skies.  I  love  your  voice." 

"  Let  me  take  care  of  you  to-night." 


88  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

"  Why,  what  would  you  do?  "  he  said,  jerking  up  his 
head. 

"  Let's  start  right  by  making  a  home  out  of  this." 

"  A  home?" 

The  allusion  was  unfortunate,  for  he  broke  into  a  laugh, 
starting  up  and  seizing  her  arm,  while  the  excitement 
seemed  to  pile  up  within  him. 

"  No,  no ;  I'll  tell  you  what  I'm  going  to  do  a  night  like 
this.  I'm  going  to  break  loose  —  stop  this  eternal,  mad 
dening  fighting  to  hold  myself  in  —  give  way!"  His 
voice  had  risen  into  rapid,  shrill  notes,  and  she  noticed 
that  his  eyes  had  taken  on  the  unseeing  shimmer.  "  Give 
way  —  give  way !  Stop  living  as  others  want  you  —  let 
the  w7orld  roar  about  you.  What's  it  matter  —  whom 
does  it  hurt  — who  cares  the  slightest?" 

He  seized  his  hat,  and,  turning  toward  her,  flung  an 
arm  around  her,  holding  her  to  him  as  though  to  sweep 
her  up  and  out  in  his  breathless  progress. 

"Will  you  do  that?  Just  to-night?  Just  for  one 
night  ?  Will  you  follow  me  to-night  ?  " 

"  No,  I  will  not,"  she  said  firmly,  though  into  her  eyes 
leaped  something  untamed  at  the  gusty,  wild  embrace  in 
which  he  had  caught  her.  "  And  you  won't  go,  either." 

"I  won't?"  he  said,  laughing  boisterously,  looking 
down  into  her  eyes  that  were  so  close  to  his.  "  That's  a 
good  one!  You  think  you  can  change  me,  do  you? 
Well,  you'll  see!" 

He  let  go  of  her,  and  was  starting  toward  the  door 
when  she  said  quickly, 

"  You're  right  —  do  as  you  please." 

"Of  course  I  shall,"  he  said  angrily.  Then  a  new 
thought  seemed  to  strike  him.  He  hesitated,  came  back 
on  tiptoe,  and  said,  with  a  curious  smile : 

"  Aren't  you  just  a  little  bit  afraid  of  me?  " 

"No;  I  am  not  afraid  of  you,"  she  said,  and  she  kept 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  89 

her  eyes  on  his  so  intently  that,  in  a  moment,  his  glance 
went  away. 

"  Well,  I'll  tell  you  something,"  he  said,  in  a  whisper ; 
"  I  am  afraid  of  myself." 

He  allowed  her,  without  further  resistance,  to  take 
his  hat  and  draw  off  his  coat. 

At  this  moment,  the  sound  of  voices  and  the  crashing 
chords  of  a  piano  broke  in  incongruously  upon  their  mood. 

"  What's  that?"  he  said,  startled. 

"  The  studio  next  door,"  she  said.  "  They've  gathered 
to  see  the  old  year  out,  I  suppose." 

Down  the  hall  they  heard  Flick  calling : 

"  Every  one  this  way!  Greatest  social  function  of  the 
year!" 

Then  the  sound  of  knocking,  an  imperative  personal 
summons.  She  passed  swiftly  to  the  button  and  extin 
guished  the  light.  Through  the  window  a  pale  shadow 
made  Dangerfield  just  discernible.  She  felt  her  way  back 
and  sat  down  near  him,  with  a  whispered  caution  to 
silence.  Tootles'  and  Schneibel's  voices  could  be  heard 
outside  in  consultation. 

"Oh,  Miss  Sonderson!" 

"  She's  oudt." 

"  Thought  I  heard  her  coming  back." 

The  door  of  the  room  where  they  were  shivered,  and 
Tootles  cried: 

"I  say  there,  friend  Dangerfield,  foregather!" 

She  put  her  hand  quickly  over  his  wrist  to  check  a  re 
sponse.  The  knock  was  repeated. 

"  He's  oudt,  too,"  said  Schneibel.  "  Can't  you  see,  you 
chump,  dere's  no  light  ?  " 

"  My,  but  he'll  be  off  on  a  record  bat  to-night!  " 

"  Well,  you  just  bet  he  will." 

They  moved  away,  and  in  the  obscurity,  Dangerfield 
began  to  laugh,  a  bitter,  gloomy  laugh. 


90  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

"  Don't !  "  she  said  sharply. 

Across  the  wall,  O'Leary's  powerful  hands  awoke  the 
piano.  Sitting  side  by  side,  they  heard  laughter  and  the 
sounds  of  dancing.  The  man  at  Inga's  side  was  silent 
again.  Music  and  the  shuffling  iteration  of  the  dance 
seemed  to  act  in  a  soothing  way  upon  his  nerves.  He 
began  to  talk  in  a  low,  matter-of-fact  voice,  with  a  curi 
ous  gift  he  had,  even  in  the  most  soul-racking  moments, 
of  standing  off  and  looking  back  at  himself. 

"  How  extraordinary  to  be  ending  the  year  like  this ! 
Last  year  and  this!  Up  here,  marooned,  lost  —  ended! 
I  certainly  have  seen  queer  turns  in  my  life.  Well,  the 
last  phase,  and  then  Bonsoir  — 

"  La  vie  est  breve : 
Un  pen  d'espoir, 
Un  peu  de  reve, 
Et  puis  bonsoir!" 

"  Do  you  understand  French?  " 

"  No." 

"  What  I  like  about  you,"  he  said  irrelevantly,  "  is 
you  don't  ask  questions." 

"  No ;  I  never  do." 

"  That's  right,"  he  said,  and,  as  though  unconscious 
of  her  presence,  he  began  to  talk  to  himself  in  a  sort  of 
dreamy  monotone  that  had  an  odd  contrast  of  melancholy 
against  the  background  of  gaiety  that  came  thrumming 
and  throbbing  from  across  the  wall. 

"Well,  and,  after  all,  we're  just  children  —  all  great 
cry-babies.  We  can't  enjoy  what  we've  got,  or  know 
how  to  keep  it.  We  go  out  and  shoot  ourselves  or  some 
one  else  —  at  least  the  great  fools  do  —  because  some 
one  we  don't  love  and  over  whose  life,  after  all,  we  have 
no  right,  meets  some  one  else  who  is  bored.  Work  — 
work,"  he  said,  his  thoughts  flowing  in  some  connection 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  91 

comprehensible  only  to  himself;  "that's  the  whole  thing 

—  the  joy  of  working  for  something,  for  something  you 

hope  to  get  —  and  when  that's  gone "  he  stopped 

suddenly,  continuing  the  thought  in  his  own  mind,  look 
ing  out  of  the  window.     "  Well,  even  then,  why  should 
we  cry  out?     At  least  we  don't  starve;  we  have  a  roof 
over  our  heads;  we  don't  harness  our  bodies  to  grind 
stones  just  to  keep  on  living.     I  wonder  which  counts  in 
the  end  —  what  they  do,  or  what  we  do?" 

Evidently  he  was  thinking  of  the  hordes  which  spread 
away  from  them  in  filthy  blocks,  for,  after  a  long  con 
templation  of  the  snow-coated  roofs,  and  the  heavy,  red 
dened  pall  of  clouds  which  caught  the  city's  reflection, 
he  continued, 

"  Do  you  know  what  keeps  them  going  —  all  of  them 

—  thousands  on  thousands  —  just  the  same  as  us?  " 
"What?" 

"  Hope,"  he  said,  with  a  laugh.  "  The  hope  that  some 
thing  wonderful  may  happen.  They  don't  know  what 
it  is.  Poor  devils,  what  can  they  hope  for?  But,  you 
see,  it  may  come.  That's  where  destiny  plays  tricks  with 
us  —  has  its  laugh  at  us.  Good  Lord,  how  life  plays 
with  us,  like  a  cat  plays  with  a  mouse!  Hope!  That's 
how  it  can  get  us  to  go  on,  to  stand  a  little  more  —  the 
future  —  to-morrow  —  the  thing  you  can't  guess."  He 
turned  to  her  again.  "  Do  you  understand  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  understand  —  to-morrow." 

"  You  don't  understand  at  all,"  he  said  impatiently. 
"  What  would  you  do  if  you  knew,  absolutely  knew,  that 
everything  was  over,  that  all  you  had  hoped  for  was  im 
possible,  that  everything  you  had  been  striving  for  —  that 
nothing  was  to  come  of  it,  nothing — no  more  illusions, 
no  more  dreams."  The  last  words  seemed  to  stick  in 
his  mind,  for  presently  he  began  to  grow  more"  excited. 
"  It's  the  dreaming  that's  the  best  of  all;  and  when  that's 


92  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

gone  —  when  you  can't  lie  back  at  night  and  dream  to 
yourself  of  doing  something  so  great  that  the  whole  world 
comes  crowding  in  to  stare  at  it  —  a  *  Mona  Lisa '  or  a 

'  Spring  '  of  Botticelli  or "  He  ended  abruptly,  with 

a  curious  sound  that  was  not  quite  a  laugh  but  more  a 
bitter  protest.  "  No,  no  —  no  more  dreams,  no  more." 

On  the  other  side  of  the  wall  the  dancing  had  ended. 
With  the  approach  of  the  weakening  hour  when  the  old 
year  would  yield  its  last  breath,  the  company  began  to 
sing  old-fashioned  ballads  — "  Kathleen  Mavourneen  " 
and  "  The  Lass  o'  Lowrie."  He  seemed  suddenly  to 
realize  all  that  he  had  been  revealing  of  the  rebellion  in  his 
soul,  for  he  turned  toward  her  in  a  sudden  antagonism. 

"  Here,  I  don't  like  your  sitting  there  making  me  talk !  " 

"  I'm  not  making  you,"  she  said.  "  It's  you  who 
wanted  me  to  be  by  you  to-night." 

"  That's  so,"  he  assented.  He  turned  toward  her  with 
another  touch  of  that  shrewd,  half -smiling  cunning  which 
he  had  shown  when  he  had  thought  to  frighten  her  before. 
"If  you  only  knew " 

"  That's  just  what  I  don't  want,"  she  said  quickly.  "  I 
don't  want  to  know." 

"  Really?  "  he  said,  drawing  back  to  watch  her. 

"  It  isn't  necessary." 

This  answer  seemed  to  satisfy  him,  for  he  forgot  her 
presently,  returning  to  the  contemplation  of  the  city  be 
low  them. 

"  I  suppose  it's  almost  time,"  he  said.  "  The  whistles 
will  be  blowing  soon." 

From  the  adjoining  studio  came  a  chorus  led  by  Schnei- 
bel's  shrill  tenor  impetuously  in  advance : 

"  Should  auld  acquaintance  be  forgot, 
And  never  brought  to  mind? 
Should  auld  acquaintance  be  forgot, 
And  days  o*  lang  syne  ?  " 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  93 

Far  out  toward  the  river,  a  premature  tug  began  a 
tiny  whistle. 

"  How  ridiculous  that  sounds ! "  he  said  irritably. 
Then,  listening  intently  to  the  repeated  chorus,  he  seemed 
to  be  visualizing  another  scene,  for  presently  he  said, 
with  a  touch  of  sadness,  the  first  he  had  displayed : 

"  They'll  be  singing  that  pretty  soon  down  by  the 
marble  fireplace  after  the  speech.  Steingall,  Quinny,  the 
whole  crowd  —  the  boys  —  perhaps  —  no,  no ;  I  guess 
not  — '  auld  acquaintance  ' —  I  wonder " 

Outside,  a  great  bell  rang,  and  swift  upon  it  another. 
All  at  once,  like  a  storm  breaking,  the  night  awoke  with 
whistle,  siren,  and  clanging  steeple  —  joyful,  eager,  peren 
nially  hopeful. 

She  bent  toward  him  and  laid  her  hand  over  his. 

"  A  new  chance." 

He  stood  up  suddenly,  as  though  at  the  limit  of  his 
tether,  and  said  between  his  teeth: 

"  By  heavens,  I  am  going  out!     I  can't  stand  this." 

She  rose  silently,  and  turning,  took  his  overcoat  and 
held  it  up  to  him  —  an  action  so  unexpected  that  he 
looked  at  her  in  surprise. 

"  Thought  you  didn't  want  me  to " 

"  I  was  wrong.  You  have  a  right  to  do  anything  you 
want." 

He  nodded  appreciatively,  and  said  suddenly,  as  though 
in  excuse : 

"  I  can't  help  it ;  I  can't  —  I  tell  you,  I  can't.  I've  got 
to  get  out." 

"  Don't  explain,"  she  said  quietly.  "  Don't  get  ex 
cited  ;  and  when  you  come  in,  call  me." 

He  took  her  shoulders  in  his  hands  and  turned  her  to 
ward  the  light. 

'  You're  a  queer  one,  queer  as  I  am,  I  guess  —  but  you 
understand." 


94  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

"Yes;  I  understand." 

"  Why  do  you  do  it  ?  "  he  said  suddenly,  his  mind  evi 
dently  turning  again  and  again  to  the  problem  which  per 
plexed  him. 

She  laid  both  her  hands  against  his  shoulders,  looking 
straight  into  his  eyes. 

"  Because  I  don't  like  to  see  a  splendid  ship  go  down." 

"I  —  a  splendid  ship?"  he  said,  with  an  incredulous 
laugh. 

"  One  in  ten  thousand." 

He  laughed  again,  moving  irritably. 

"  So  you  believe  in  me,  do  you?  " 

"  Absolutely." 

He  caught  his  breath,  stood  silent  a  long  moment  in  a 
conflict  of  emotions,  yielding,  longing,  haunted,  and  rebel 
lious.  At  the  end  he  said  scornfully : 

"  Yes,  they  all  do  —  at  first.     Well,  you're  wrong !  " 

With  which  he  stalked  away  without  further  notice. 
He  did  not  come  back  that  night  at  all,  though  the  light 
shone  under  her  door  patiently.  Late  the  next  afternoon, 
Sassafras  came  into  the  studio  with  a  mysterious  gesture 
to  King  O'Leary,  who  was  taking  tea  at  the  hands  of 
Myrtle  Popper  and  pretending  to  like  it.  Together  they 
carried  Dangerfield  to  his  room.  He  was  in  a  dreadful 
condition  —  a  soiled  and  hopeless  mass  from  the  gutter 
out  of  which  he  had  been  rescued. 


IX 

DURING  this  time  Art,  Literature,  and  Music  were  in 
dustriously  engaged  in  the  laudable  enterprise  of  spending 
the  unearned  increment,  in  the  course  of  which  redis 
tribution  of  wealth,  they  found  the  necessary  encourage 
ment  from  the  more  expensive  sex.  A  round  of  gaiety 
set  in  such  as  the  Arcadians  had  never  known.  Visits 
to  restaurants  and  theaters  became  mere  details  of  a 
daily  routine.  They  gave  a  dance  in  the  studio  and 
plunged  into  the  revelry  of  costume  balls,  then  at  its 
height;  while,  under  the  guidance  of  Belle  Shaler,  they 
made  several  excursions  into  the  bohemia  of  Washington 
Square  and  Greenwich  Village.  In  the  inevitable  pair- 
ing-off  process,  it  transpired  that,  however  they  started 
forth,  they  returned  home  with  Myrtle  Popper  snuggling 
close  to  O'Leary's  protecting  bulk  (she  seemed  particu 
larly  sensitive  to  the  cold),  Tootles  tagging  ,close  to 
Pansy's  provoking  shoulder,  and  Flick  and  Belle  Shaler, 
who  had  quarreled  from  the  start,  walking  six  feet  apart 
and  stabbing  each  other  with  final  deadly  glances.  Millie 
Brewster  came  to  the  parties  in  the  studio,  but  seldom 
ventured  forth  on  the  marauding  expeditions  —  not  that 
she  did  not  envy  these  rollicking  sallies  in  wig  and  fancy 
dress,  only  she  could  not  shake  off  the  timidity  and  shy 
ness  which  had  grown  about  her  in  her  months  of  iso 
lation. 

"  Boys,"  said  King  O'Leary,  one  morning,  when  from 
his  couch  he  had  watched  Tootles'  mental  control  of  Mat 
ter  carrying  him  by  successive  jerks  to  the  sink  — "  boys, 
I  have  a  bit  of  news  to  break  to  you.  I  have  been  count 
ing  up,  and  there  is  just  one  more  jamboree  in  sight." 


96  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

Flick  awoke  by  one  of  those  subconscious  mental  per 
ceptions  that  the  Society  for  Psychical  Research  is  at 
present  investigating. 

"Broke?" 

"  King,  tell  us  the  worst." 

"  Sixty-two  dollars  and  some  miserable  change,"  said 
O'Leary  cheerfully,  "  is  all  that  keeps  us  among  the  high 
rollers." 

A  fearful  suspicion  flashed  across  Tootles'  ducal  coun 
tenance  as  it  dawned  upon  him  that,  though  it  was  the 
first  week  of  the  month,  no  summons  to  pay  the  rent  had 
yet  appeared. 

"  King,  you  paid  the  rent !  " 

O'Leary  did  not  deny  it. 

"  How  much  ?  "  said  Flick  faintly. 

"  A  year." 

Tootles  took  this  announcement  very  hard. 

"  It's  squandering  money,  that's  what  it  is,"  he  said  bit 
terly. 

"  Why,  damn  it,  man,"  said  Flick,  equally  outraged, 
"anything  can  happen  —  another  uncle  might  die!  " 

"  Well,  it's  done,"  said  King  O'Leary,  without  sign  of 
penitence.  "  I'm  getting  tired  of  dissipation,  anyhow. 
At  least  we  have  a  roof  over  our  heads." 

"  We  shall  starve  to  death  —  like  Croton  water-bugs 
caught  in  a  diamond  casket,"  said  Flick,  who  had  a  taste 
for  poetical  flights. 

"  But,  even  then,"  said  Tootles,  "  even  with  that  and 
the  parties  and  the  gorgeous  presents,  there  ought  to  be 
three  or  four  hundred  left."  At  this  moment  he  caught 
sight  of  a  guilty  look  on  King  O'Leary's  face.  "  Litera 
ture,  I  do  believe  he's  been  and  done  some  low-down, 
sneaking  good  action.  What  is  it  —  paying  rent  for  the 
whole  floor?" 

"  Nothing  of  the  sort,"   said   King  O'Leary,  but  so 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  97 

gruffly  that  Tootles  was  confirmed  in  the  idea  that  his 
guess  had  some  pertinency. 

"  He's  been  buying  diamonds  for  Myrtle,"  said  Flick 
suspiciously. 

"  Well,  here  it  is,"  said  King  O'Leary,  depositing  a  col 
lection  of  bills  and  change  upon  the  table.  "  What'll 
we  do  with  it  ?  " 

To  his  shame,  Tootles,  who  had  bourgeois  inclinations, 
suggested  that  they  should  save  it  against  the  daily  ache 
of  the  stomach. 

"  Never !  "  said  Flick,  with  a  withering  look.  "  We 
have  lived  like  dead-game  sports,  and  we  must  end  with 
a  bang  and  not  with  a  trickle." 

"  Shake!  "  said  King  O'Leary. 

"Well,  what?"  said  Tootles  glumly.  "Oh,  you  fel 
lows  can  grin ;  but  I  know  what's  going  to  happen  to  me. 
That  confounded  money-eating  little  flirt  of  a  Pansy  will 
give  me  the  royal  shake  the  moment  she  gets  wise." 
When  Tootles  had  a  grief  or  a  woe,  he  confided  it  to  the 
world.  "  By  Jove,  I've  made  a  fool  enough  of  myself, 
running  after  her,  when  all  I  had  to  do  was  to  sit  quiet 
and  condescend  to  let  her  feed  out  of  my  hand!  Damn 
that  Portuguese,  Drink  water !  It  was  bad  enough  before 
—  but  now,  O  Lord !  " 

"  I  shall  break  my  engagement  to  Belle,"  said  Flick 
facetiously.  "  Thank  Heaven  for  one  thing,  she  won't 
come  around  any  more." 

"  We've  wasted  too  much  time,  anyhow,"  said  King 
O'Leary,  mistaking  the  sincerity  of  these  professions. 
"  As  for  me,  I  feel  like  getting  back  to  doing  something. 
I  tell  you  what  we'll  do:  We'll  take  the  girls  out  once 
more,  give  them  the  greatest  razzle-dazzle  blowout  they 
have  ever  seen,  and  then,  when  their  eyes  are  bulging  out 
and  they  are  ready  to  melt  in  our  arms,  we'll  say,  '  Ladies, 
adoo  forever ! '  " 


98  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

"  Then  we're  to  tell  them  we're  bust?  "  said  Flick',  to 
whom  the  bravado  appealed. 

"  No,"  said  Tootles  firmly ;  "  let's  put  it  on  high  moral 
grounds.  We  must  tell  them  that  we  have  listened  to 
the  stern  voice  of  ambition,  that  we  are  artists,  and  our 
professions  are  reclaiming  us." 

"  That  means  work,"  said  Flick. 

"  I  have  an  idea  for  a  masterpiece,"  said  Tootles,  who, 
by  the  last  speech,  had  recovered  lost  ground.  "  It's  to 
be  called  '  The  Ages  Contemplating  the  Well-Dressed 
Man/  It's  to  be  a  monumental  work.  Who  knows,  it 
may  bring  another  thousand !  " 

At  noon,  while  they  were  perfecting  their  plans  (Flick's 
suggestion  of  dining  at  the  St.  Regis  having  been  dis 
missed  on  account  of  King  O'Leary's  hostility  to  boiled 
linen  and  social  dog-collars),  there  came  a  timid  tap-tap 
at  the  door,  and,  to  the  amazement  of  two  members  of 
the  firm  at  least,  Millie  Brewster  arrived  with  a  broom  and 
a  dust-cloth. 

"  Can't  I  be  useful?"  she  said,  dreadfully  confused  at 
her  own  daring.  ( She  had  studied  over  this  opening  for 
an  hour.)'  "  It's  only  neighborly,  isn't  it?  " 

King  O'Leary  sprang  up  rather  quickly,  and  while 
Tootles'  eyes  watched  him  with  a  dawning  suspicion, 
he  went  to  the  girl  and  said  with  rough  good  na 
ture: 

"  You  certainly  can  —  come  right  in  and  set  to  it. 
Give  your  orders,  Millie  —  we're  here." 

But  to  the  surprise  of  everybody,  the  girl  pushed  him 
away  with  determination,  saying: 

"  Not  at  all.  Sit  down  —  please.  You'll  only  be  in 
the  way." 

"  So  that's  the  way  the  wind  blows,"  thought  Tootles, 
noticing  the  light  that  came  into  the  childish  face  as  she 
looked  up  at  the  rugged  globe-trotter. 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  99 

"  Why,  bless  my  soul,  is  this  to  be  a  habit,  Millie  ?  " 
said  Flick  encouragingly. 

"  Please  —  if  you'll  let  me/'  she  said  eagerly. 

Flick  gave  the  permission  with  the  air  of  one  parting 
with  a  string  of  pearls.  The  three  men,  lounging  over 
their  morning  pipes,  followed  with  delicious  satisfaction 
the  young  girl  routing  the  dust,  and  such  is  the  soul- 
delight  that  such  rare  feminine  spectacles  engender  in  the 
masculine  mind,  that  they  found  her,  all  at  once,  amaz 
ingly  young,  graceful,  and  romantically  pretty. 

"  There's  lots  and  lots  of  dust,"  said  Millie,  shaking 
her  head.  "  I  can't  get  it  all  out  at  once." 

"  I  should  like  to  make  a  sketch  of  her  bending  down 
like  that,"  said  Tootles  pensively.  "  Beautiful  line  — 
charming !  " 

"  What  a  cracking  idea  for  a  heroine,"  said  Flick,  who 
was  stirred  to  creative  rashness. 

O'Leary,  who  understood  better  than  the  others,  leaned 
back  dreamily,  puffing  in  contentment. 

.At  this  moment  the  door  opened,  and  Belle  Shaler 
slouched  in,  in  a  manner  which  would  have  set  the  hearts 
of  fashionable  debutantes  afire  with  envy,  and  stopped 
short,  her  shocked  hair  whirling  around  her  saucy  face  in 
amazement  at  the  sight  of  Millie  on  a  chair,  caressing 
the  dragon's  tail  with  a  dust-cloth. 

"  For  the  love  of  Mike,  woman,  what's  struck  you?  " 
she  exclaimed,  though  in  somewhat  stronger  terms. 
"  Degrading  yourself  for  this  bunch  of  loafers  and  sofa- 
warmers  !  " 

"  Don't  worry,  sweetheart,"  said  Flick  sweetly.  "  No 
one's  going  to  ask  you." 

"  Well,  you  certainly  have  got  your  nerve,"  said  Belle, 
mistaking  the  initiative.  "  If  you  want  a  slave,  why 
don't  you  get  a  wife?  " 

"  Miss  Brewster  has  offered  to  do  it  out  of  the  kind- 


ioo  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

ness  of  her  heart/'  said  King  O'Leary,  seeing  Millie  over 
come  with  embarrassment. 

"  Sit  down,  Belle ;  we're  keeping  the  family  mending 
for  you." 

Before  Belle  could  get  her  breath  to  retort,  Millie  broke 
in: 

"  Oh,  please  —  I  expected  —  I  wanted  to  do  that  — 
really  I  did!" 

The  tone  in  which  it  was  said  struck  each  one.  Each 
felt  the  loneliness  from  which  the  girl  was  struggling. 
Belle  gave  her  a  short  look  of  amazement  and  then  went 
up  and  put  her  arm  around  her  with  abrupt  good  nature, 
saying : 

"  Don't  mind  my  jawing.  I'm  a  rough  nut.  Bless 
your  heart,  don't  worry ;  you  shall  do  it !  " 

"  'Pon  my  word,"  said  Flick  aggressively,  "  who's  dis 
posing  of  things  around  here?  " 

"  I  am,"  said  Belle,  shrugging  her  shoulders. 

"  Angel,  you're  wrong,"  said  Flick  suavely.  "If  you 
want  to  know  what  makes  woman  an  elevating  force  and 
a  tender,  inspiring  ideal  in  the  life  of  rough  men,  sit  here 
and  watch  Millie." 

Belle  Shaler  slumped  to  the  table,  swung  up  on  it,  and 
lit  a  cigarette  before  she  condescended  to  glance  down  at 
Flick. 

"  Say,  I'll  bet  that's  what  you  think,"  she  said,  with 
her  battling  glance. 

"  A  woman  like  Millie,"  said  Flick,  from  the  cushions, 
watching  dreamily  the  bustling  progress  of  the  house- 
cleaning,  "  could  make  me  a  credit  to  society." 

"  Ha,  ha !  "  said  Belle,  and  flicked  away  the  ash  of  her 
cigarette  with  a  scornful  wave.  "  What  you  need,  bo,  is 
a  hell-cat,  a  raring,  tearing  hell-cat  with  a  rotten  temper, 
to  stand  over  you  with  a  poker  and  whang  you  one. 
Then  you'd  work." 


THE  WOIVtAN  .GIVES  101 

"  No,  Belle;  no,"  said  Flick,  putting  Grit-Ills  tend  as 
though  to  ward  her  off.  "  I  can  not  marry  you." 

"  Dog!  "  said  Belle,  and  flung  at  him  the  nearest  ob 
ject  at  hand,  which  happened  to  be  a  saucer. 

"  I  really  do  believe  they're  fond  of  each  other,"  said 
Tootles,  the  acute  observer. 

"Oh,  you're  no  better,"  said  Belle,  turning  on  him; 
"  you're  worse.  You've  got  brains  and  won't  use  them. 
Lord,  but  I  loathe  a  bunch  of  work-dodgers!  I  see  your 
finish  —  a  lot  of  sandwich-men  beating  the  pavements/' 

"  What  the  devil  does  she  come  around  here  for?  "  said 
Flick,  beginning  to  grow  angry,  "  just  as  we  were 
comfy?" 

"Haven't  we  been  keeping  you  in  luxury?"  said 
O'Leary,  arousing  himself. 

"  Well,  you're  a  good  bunch,"  said  Belle,  relaxing  a 
little,  "  but  what  I  said  goes.  You're  a  fine  lithograph 
of  ambition,  you  are  —  wallowing  around  like  a  lot  of 
yellow  dogs.  Why  don't  you  get  up  and  work?  " 

"  Where's  Pansy?  "  said  Tootles,  to  divert  the  attack. 

"  Out  cooing  with  Drinkwater,  I  guess,"  said  Belle, 
who  flounced  off  with  this  parting  stab.  "  You  don't 
think  she  takes  you  seriously,  do  you  ?  Why,  you  couldn't 
support  a  canary !  " 

"  Damn  women,  anyhow !  "  said  Tootles,  who  winced 
perceptibly.  "  That's  what  money  does  for  you.  They 
only  come  into  your  life  to  help  you  spend  it,  and  then 
they  make  you  miserable.  Curse  every  one  of  them ! 
Curse  them  one  and  all !  " 

"  But  curse  Belle  Shaler  first,"  said  Flick. 

"  All  except  Millie,"  said  O'Leary,  smiling. 

"  Well,  except  Millie." 

But,  to  their  surprise,  the  girl,  having  finished  what 
might  be  called  her  dust-survey,  approached  them  and 
blurted  out : 


102  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

"  Don't  be  mad  at  her,  Mr.  Wilder.  It's  because  she 
cares  for  you  she  goes  at  you  so." 

"Why,  Millie,  how  do  you  know  such  things?"  said 
Tootles,  opening  his  eyes. 

"  Well,  I  do." 

"  I  do  believe  she  agrees  with  Belle,"  said  O'Leary, 
who  believed  no  such  thing.  "  Come,  now,  the  truth !  " 

Thus  cornered,  to  their  astonishment  the  girl  looked 
very  red  and  uncomfortable,  but  finally  announced  with 
a  determined  shake  of  her  head : 

"  Well,  yes ;  I  do !  I  think  she  is  absolutely  right. 
And  I  think  —  I  think  you  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  your 
selves,  every  one  of  you!  " 

When  she  had  rushed  away,  overcome  with  her  own 
daring,  the  three  loungers  looked  helplessly  at  each  other 
and  then  up  at  the  skylight,  as  though  to  discover  whence 
the  bomb  had  fallen. 

"  I  do  believe  we  have  touched  these  maidens'  hearts," 
said  Tootles,  the  first  to  break  the  silence. 

"  Never  felt  so  gorgeously,  deliciously  happy  in  my 
life,"  said  Flick,  in  a  melancholy  tone.  "  Everything 
seemed  just  lovely  with  the  world ;  I  was  just  plain  plumb 
glad  to  be  alive  —  and  then  some  one  has  to  break  in  and 
shout,  '  Get  up  and  work ! ' 

"  Well,  son,  they're  right,"  said  O'Leary,  jumping  up 
and  stretching  his  arms.  "  Guess  millions  don't  agree 
with  us." 

"  Speak  for  yourself,"  said  Flick. 

"  Flick,"  said  O'Leary  solemnly,  "  Belle  hits  hard  but 
she  hits  square.  Son,  you  ought  to  be  up  and  doing!  " 

"  Why  me  any  more  than  Tootles  ?  " 

"  You're  older  than  I  am,"  said  Tootles,  who  joined 
O'Leary  in  a  withering  contemplation  of  the  joke-smith. 
"  Besides,  who  cracks  the  jokes  you  sell?  " 

"  So  you're  all  picking  on  me?  "  said  Flick  wrathfully. 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  103 

"  All  right;  I'll  show  you.  And  I  won't, ria.ve  to  kill  an 
uncle  to  do  it,  either,"  he  added,  with  a  vindictive  glance 
at  O'Leary  as  he  left  the  room. 

"  He's  gone  out  in  search  of  puns,"  said  Tootles,  who, 
after  a  moment's  whistling,  added,  "  The  party  still  on 
for  to-night?" 

"  It's  our  only  salvation." 

"  Well,  I'll  go  down  and  give  the  invitations,"  said 
Tootles,  who  departed  in  quest  of  Pansy. 


X 

LEFT  alone,  King  O'Leary  began  to  move  restlessly 
about  the  studio,  his  hands  behind  his  back.  The  sun 
was  sparkling  through  the  skylight  —  the  same  sun  that 
was  shining  on  distant  tranquil  seas  and  over  green  is 
lands  ;  and  some  of  the  old  tugging  was  at  his  heart,  for 
he  moved  over  to  the  trunk  which  was  always  ready  for 
an  instant  departure.  He  was  on  his  knees,  searching 
through  old  keepsakes  that  had  about  them  the  scent  of 
other  days,  when  the  voice  of  Myrtle  Popper  called : 

"  Hello  there !     Anybody  in  ?  " 

He  turned  from  his  knees,  to  find  her  looking  down 
suspiciously. 

"  Say  you  look  as  though  you  were  running  off? " 

King  O'Leary  laughed  guiltily. 

"  Myrtle,  you've  caught  me  with  the  goods !  Well, 
yes;  I  was  getting  restless."  He  rose  and  looked  down 
at  her  with  a  shake  of  his  head.  "  Lord,  wouldn't  I 
like  to  be  lying  on  my  back,  sailing  into  Hong  Kong  har 
bor,  watching  the  mast  scraping  against  the  blue,  and 
the  yards  creaking  lazily " 

She  went  to  the  trunk  and  shut  it  with  a  bang,  placing 
a  red-heeled  slipper  on  it,  with  a  neat  flash  of  blue-silk 
ankle  above. 

"Say,  how  old  are  you?" 

"  Myrtle,  you're  looking  as  fresh  as  the  first  roses," 
said  King  O'Leary  artfully.  "  And  that's  a  lovely  bit  of 
ankle,  blue  as  the  blue  sky  over  Hong  Kong." 

"  How  old  are  you?"  repeated  the  girl  sternly,  who 
looked  wonderfully  enticing,  with  her  coiled  hair  and 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  105 

young  figure  set  off  by  the  lace  apron  against  the  black 
working-dress. 

"  Thirty-six  beautiful  years  —  and  one  more." 

"  Thirty-seven !  "  said  the  girl  severely.  "  And  what 
are  you  —  nothing  but  a  hobo !  " 

"Hold  up!"  said  O'Leary  suspiciously.  "Is  this  a 
conspiracy  ?  Have  you  been  talking  to  Belle  ?  " 

"  I  have  been  talking  to  no  one,"  said  Myrtle  indig 
nantly.  "  I  say  what  I  mean ;  and  I  mean  it's  a  crying 
shame  to  see  a  fine,  upstanding  man  like  you,  King 
O'Leary,  no  further  along  than  you  were  twenty  years 
ago." ' 

"  What  the  devil's  got  into  this  place,  anyhow?  "  said 
O'Leary,  putting  his  hand  to  his  forehead  and  sitting 
down  before  the  storm. 

"  Why  don't  you  settle  down  ?  "  said  Myrtle,  in  a  coax 
ing  voice.  "  You  can  do  things  —  you  can  handle  men  — 
Lord,  they'd  jump  for  you!  " 

"  What  would  you  have  me  do  ?  "  said  O'Leary,  not 
insensible  to  the  compliment  of  being  frowned  at  by  a 
pretty  face. 

"  You  can't  go  on  bumming  forever.  Get  hold  of 
something  and  stick  to  it.  You've  got  brains,  and  you've 
got  the  push,  too.  Why,  there  are  thousands  of  men 
making  their  pile  right  here  in  little  old  New  York  that 
aren't  fit  to  hold  your  coat!  " 

By  this  time,  King  O'Leary's  early  resentment  had 
passed,  and  the  Irish  fondness  for  teasing  had  begun  to 
twinkle  in  his  eyes. 

"  Well,  Myrtle  dear,  what  have  you  been  making  up 
your  mind  I  am  to  do  ?  " 

"  Try  a  chance  with  a  moving-picture  house,"  said 
Myrtle  eagerly.  "  Honest,  King,  I  mean  it.  I've  been 
thinking  of  what  you  might  do  for  days.  I  want  to  see 
you  get  ahead.  There's  an  old  fellow  called  Pomello 


io6  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

that  has  struck  it  rich  and  would  do  anything  for  me. 
Put  some  money  in  with  him.  Sure,  I  could  arrange 
it  in  a  minute." 

"  My  money  is  already  invested,"  said  King  O'Leary, 
telling  a  defensive  fib. 

"  There  are  a  dozen  chances  passing  you  every  day,  if 
you'll  only  keep  your  eyes  open,"  said  Myrtle,  sitting  on 
the  sofa  next  to  O'Leary,  with  such  excitement  in  her 
great  green  eyes  that  King  O'Leary  was  conscious  of  a 
pleasant  conceit. 

"  Myrtle,  I'm  afraid  you're  a  determined  woman,"  he 
said,  with  a  provoking  smile. 

"  I  wouldn't  be  here  if  I  wasn't,"  she  said.  "  What 
would  I  be  to-day  if  I  couldn't  make  up  my  mind  ?  What 
you  need  is  some  one  to  push  you  on." 

"  How  would  you  like  to  be  rolling  up  the  Roo  Royale 
—  that's  in  Paris  —  in  a  jingling  open-front  carriage, 
stretched  back  and  watching  the  dukes  and  duchesses  go 
by?  "  said  King  O'Leary  maliciously. 

"  You'll  never  be  sensible,"  said  Myrtle,  frowning. 

He  lay  back,  propped  up  against  the  pillows,  watching 
the  fine  figure  the  girl  made  sitting  there,  her  eyes  spark 
ling  with  the  busy  schemes  she  was  concocting  in  the 
back  of  her  head,  of  whose  one  object  he  was  pleasantly 
aware. 

"  What  a  pity  I'm  not  the  marrying  kind,"  he  said 
slyly.  "  I  believe  you  would  make  an  alderman  out  of 


me." 


"  Quit  your  kiddin',"  she  said,  shrugging  her  shoulders, 
"  and  don't  think,  because  a  girl's  a  good-enough  pal  to 
want  to  see  you  get  on,  that  she's  throwing  herself  at 
your  head." 

He  laughed  hugely. 

"  Got  me  that  time,  all  right !  " 

"  Be  sensible,"   she  said,  relenting.     "  It  ain't  often 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  107 

we  get  a  chance  to  sit  down  alone.  Lord,  you  don't  know 
what  good  it  does  me  to  slump  in  here  for  a  quiet  chat! 
You're  one  of  my  own  kind,  King!  " 

O'Leary  yielded  to  the  temptation  of  the  moment  far 
enough  to  play  with  the  coiled  bracelet  which  lay  against 
the  girl's  wrist. 

"  Say,  I'm  rather  curious  about  you,"  he  said,  studying 
her  gravely.  "  You  see  a  queer  side  of  life." 

"  I  can  handle  it." 

"  I  know  that." 

"  There's  one  thing  I  have  got,"  she  said,  eager  to  seize 
the  rare  opportunity  to  lead  him  into  a  serious  conver 
sation,  "  and  that's  a  good,  hard  bump  of  common  sense. 
Don't  make  any  mistakes  about  me  and  —  and  the  others. 
I  don't  lose  my  head,  King." 

"  Well,  that's  a  wonder,  for  you're  pretty  enough  to 
make  the  Pope  himself  lose  his,"  said  O'Leary,  patting 
her  hand. 

"  Wish  you  meant  it,"  she  said,  looking  at  him  seri 
ously,  "  but,  what  with  your  blarney  and  your  jollying, 
no  one  knows  what  you  think.  Yes,  I  like  sassiety,  but 
I'm  not  fooled.  You  bet  I  know  where  to  pin  the  young 
fellows  who  take  me  out  —  and  the  old  ones,  too." 

"  Should  think  you  got  into  tight  places  sometimes," 
said  O'Leary,  looking  steadily  into  her  eyes. 

"Pooh!  Men  are  like  strange  dogs,"  she  said  con 
temptuously.  "  Walk  right  up  to  them,  bold  as  life,  and 
they're  gentle  as  ducks.  Say  —  after  all,  there's  a  lot 
of  bunk  about  this  bold,  bad-man  stuff.  Honest,  outside 
of  a  couple  of  freshies,  men  has  been  awfully  decent 
to  me.  You  know  what  I  think?  I  think  a  lot  of  them 
are  bored  stiff  with  the  women  about  them  and  just  tickled 
to  death  to  take  out  a  girl  who  appreciates  having  a  good 
time." 

O'Leary  nodded. 


io8  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

"  Men  are  rather  decent.  They  go  just  about  as  far  as 
a  woman  wants  them  to." 

"  That's  right,"  she  said  frankly,  bobbing  her  head. 
"  You  get  from  them  about  what  you  want.  Sure,  I  like 
the  going  out  to  the  restaurants  and  the  the-ayters,  and 
I  dote  on  dancing;  but  —  say  —  that's  not  all  the  game." 

"It  isn't,  eh?" 

"  Not  on  your  life ;  and  little  Myrtle  knows  it,  and  don't 
you  forget  it.  There's  a  long  ways  to  go  after  the 
mashers  drop  off.  The  main  thing  is  settlin'  down  to 
something  that's  your  own ;  findin'  the  fellow  who's  worth 
helping  on,  and  startin'  to  save." 

"  Why,  Myrtle,  I  thought  you  were  a  social  butterfly !  " 
said  O'Leary,  surprised  and  a  little  apprehensive  as  he 
thought  he  perceived  the  drift  of  these  remarks. 

"  Butterfly  nothing !  Not  when  the  right  man  comes 
up  the  street!  Nix!  Home  and  kiddies  for  me.  I'm 
not  ashamed  to  say  it.  That's  the  real  life.  I've  seen 
all  I  want  of  sassiety." 

"  Well,  Myrtle,  you've  got  lots  of  chances,"  he  said, 
little  reckoning  how  the  future  would  play  the  cards. 
"  I'll  bet  some  day  I'll  see  you  rolling  down  the  avenue 
in  a  fine  limousine  just  like  Mrs.  Van  Astorbilt." 

"  Don't  tease  me,"  she  said,  so  quietly  that  an  embar 
rassing  silence  fell  between  them.  She  got  up  nervously. 
"  I  must  be  getting  back  to  the  job,"  she  said,  glancing 
at  her  watch. 

"  You're  dining  with  me  to-night,"  he  said,  rising. 

"  Am  I  ?  "  she  said,  putting  her  head  back  defiantly. 
"  I've,  got  an  engagement  —  had  it  for  a  week." 

"  You'll  break  it,  Myrtle  darlin'  ?  " 

"  Oh,  will  I  ?  "  she  said  impertinently.  "  You  seem 
very  sure  of  yourself." 

"  I  am,"  he  said,  smiling  and  looking  into  her  eyes  so 
intently  that  she  turned  her  glance  away. 


Friendship !  ''   she   said   scornfully,   with  a   quick  breath, 
"  a  lot  of  friendship  there  was  in  that !  "     Page  109. 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  109 

"  Just  you  and  me?  "  she  said,  in  a  quieter  tone. 

"  No ;  it's  the  bunch.  Oh,  you  needn't  make  a  face. 
We're  dining  at  the  Waldorf.  Sure,  I'm  not  jollying 
you  this  time.  So  get  out  your  swell  duds,"  he  said,  com 
ing  nearer  and  playing  with  the  lace  collar  which  lay 
close  to  her  throat,  "  for  I  want  the  girl  that's  on  my  arm 
to  put  it  all  over  the  rest  of  them  —  savvy  ?  " 

"  Do  you  think  I  can?  "  she  said,  with  a  quick  breath, 
for  he  was  close  to  her,  and  her  eyes  flashed  with  a  sud 
den  leap  as  they  met  his. 

"  Sure,  Myrtle,  if  you  look  at  me  again  like  that,  you 
do  it  at  your  own  peril,"  he  said,  wild  Irish  mischief 
dancing  in  his  glance. 

"  Don't  you  dare !  "  she  said,  throwing  up  her  head ;  and 
there  was  something  in  her  look  that  made  him  laugh, 
and  after  a  little  scuffle,  kiss  her. 

"  Mind,  though,  that  was  just  in  friendship,"  he  said, 
in  pretended  seriousness. 

She  stood  away  against  the  wall,  breathless,  her  cheeks 
on  fire  and  her  eyes  snapping,  her  head  a  little  light  from 
the  fervor  of  his  embrace. 

"  Friendship !  "  she  said  scornfully,  with  a  quick  breath, 
"  A  lot  of  friendship  there  was  in  that !  " 

When  she  had  gone,  King  O'Leary  stood  shaking  his 
head  slowly,  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  whistling  to  him 
self  as  he  glanced  in  perplexity  at  the  sun  which  was 
sparkling  through  the  skylight  —  the  sun  that  shone  over 
distant  seas  and  green  isles. 


XI 

TOOTLE'S  sentimental  difficulties  were  the  more  annoy 
ing  inasmuch  as  he  had  only  himself  to  blame,  though  he 
had  this  excuse :  that  the  plight  in  which  he  found  him 
self  floundering,  according  to  the  caprices  of  the  most 
fascinating  game  of  chance  in  the  world,  was  one  into 
which  many  a  satisfied  male  idol  has  precipitated  himself 
unwittingly.  In  brief,  up  to  the  advent  of  the  Christmas 
party  and  Drinkwater's  impertinent  intrusion,  Tootles  had 
been  adored  because  he  was  in  the  strategical  position  of 
permitting  the  adoration.  During  this  time,  Pansy,  en 
raptured  with  Tootles'  sartorial  splendor,  his  aristocratic 
features  (which  reminded  one  of  a  footman  or  a  duke), 
his  holiday  English  intonation,  and  finding  him  only  lan 
guidly  interested,  was  overjoyed  at  his  condescension  and 
quite  miserable  at  his  displeasure  wrhen  she  forgot  and 
shifted  her  pose.  Her  eyes  showed  plainly  her  adoration, 
and  she  hurried  gratefully  to  his  call  whenever  Tootles 
would  come  rapping  at  the  door,  saying  in  his  impertinent 
manner : 

"  Miss  Hartmann,  Mr.  St.  George  Kidder  will  receive 
you  for  half  an  hour —  for  only  half  an  hour,  mind  you. 
He  has  a  sitter  at  three  —  a  lady  of  the  highest  society, 
who  wishes  her  visits  to  remain  unsuspected." 

The  more  coolly  the  young  scamp  took  her  adoration, 
the  more  she  adored  him;  and  matters  might  have  gone 
on  thus  indefinitely,  had  not  Tootles  been  so  amateurish 
as  to  resent  the  attentions  of  Drinkwater.  Overnight  the 
whole  face  of  the  world  was  changed,  and  from  being 
pursued  by  a  beautiful  nymph  who  trembled  under  the 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  in 

favor  of  his  smile,  Tootles,  to  his  indignation,  found  him 
self  the  pursuer,  without  quite  comprehending  how  the 
transformation  had  been  worked.  He  was  as  astonished 
(as  he  himself  expressed  it)  as  the  fleeing  rabbit  circling 
around  a  tree  is  to  find  himself  abruptly  pursuing  the  dog. 
Miss  Pansy,  from  a  grateful  young  lady  with  her  heart 
at  her  finger-tips,  became  overnight  a  delighted  and  out 
rageous  little  flirt,  maliciously  bent  on  tormenting  him 
to  the  limit  of  his  endurance.  Tootles,  not  having  sense 
enough  to  stop  and  run  in  the  opposite  direction,  con 
tinued  with  wrath  and  fury  to  pursue  the  tantalizing  eyes 
which  danced  at  him  over  her  fleeing  shoulder,  until  he 
was  ready  to  believe  that  the  love  and  likewise  the  tragedy 
of  his  life  had  descended  upon  him. 

Belle  Shaler's  trifling  allusion  to  Drinkwater  had 
aroused  the  atavistic  yearning  for  murder  in  simple  or 
exaggerated  degrees  in  his  usually  easy-going  nature. 
He  stopped  before  the  door  of  her  studio  a  moment, 
frowning  darkly,  before  deciding,  with  supreme  cunning, 
to  disguise  his  misery  under  a  countenance  of  excessive 
joy.  Pansy,  to  his  relief,  was  there,  camped  in  a  green- 
plush  rocking-chair,  sewing  on  something  pink  and  filmy. 
On  the  center-table  was  a  very  large  vase  of  chrysanthe 
mums.  When  Tootles  perceived  this,  his  gaiety  de 
scended,  so  to  speak,  into  the  cellar.  He  entered  the 
room  with  a  forced  dapperness,  saying : 

"  Have  the  diamonds  come  yet,  or  would  you  prefer 
pearls?" 

The  room  was  divided  by  a  green-baize  curtain  which 
concealed  the  domestic  arrangements  and  the  oil-stove. 
Popular  full-pages  in  color  from  magazines  and  news 
papers  littered  the  walls,  while  different  articles  of  furni 
ture  were  decked  out  in  ribbons  and  ruffles,  which  gave 
them  the  effect  of  displaying  their  lingerie.  A  sewing- 
machine  was  disguised  under  an  Eastern  blanket,  while 


H2  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

the  bed-couches  were  piled  with  fancy  pillows,  depicting 
such  romantic  scenes  as  a  mother-bird  feeding  its  young ; 
a  tennis-match  entitled  "  Love  All,"  the  noble  red  Indians 
around  a  camp-fire,  and  another,  adorned  with  a  red- 
cheeked  damsel  with  her  hand  behind  her  head  and  her 
legs  out  of  proportion,  inscribed  "  An  American  Beauty." 
Tootles  saw  none  of  these  details,  nor  the  kimono-covered 
screen,  nor  the  knicknacks  on  the  desk  representing  dogs 
with  pipes  in  their  mouths,  rabbits  in  the  form  of  match- 
safes  and  a  young  man  kissing  a  young  lady  over  a  stile 
He  saw  only  the  chrysanthemums. 

"  Oh,  hello !  "  said  Pansy,  continuing  at  her  work. 

"Who's  that?"  said  Belle,  sticking  her  head  through 
the  curtains.  "  Oh,  it's  only  you!  " 

Tootles  put  his  hand  on  his  heart  and  made  several 
rapid  bows. 

"  Thanks  —  thanks  for  this  ovation !  " 

"  What  have  ye  been  doing  all  this  while  ?  "  Pansy  con 
descended  to  say,  and,  as  though  this  were  a  soul-confi 
dence,  she  raised  her  eyes  liquidly  and  allowed  her  glance 
to  flutter  in  his  in  one  of  those  destructive  looks  which 
do  not  need  to  be  taught  at  high  school. 

"  It's  my  birthday,"  said  Tootles,  hoping  to  derive  some 
future  advantage ;  "  and  I  am  arranging  for  my  friends 
to  give  me  a  surprise-party." 

"  Go  wan,"  said  Pansy,  who,  having  treated  him  to  a 
melting  look,  now  froze  him  with  one  of  indifferent  dis 
dain.  However,  the  scent  of  dinner  in  the  air  demanded 
a  certain  diplomacy.  She  smiled.  "  What  is  it  —  feed 
or  show?  " 

"  It  is  my  birthday,"  said  Tootles  indignantly.  "  Don't 
you  think  I  was  born,  the  same  as  you? " 

"  Come  off !  "  said  Belle,  who  emerged  from  behind  the 
curtains  with  her  hat  on.  "  I'll  bet  they  picked  you  off 
a  tree." 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  113 

"  My  dear  girl,"  said  Tootles,  who  resorted  to  his  de 
fensive  English  accent,  "  it  would  be  far  better  if  you  at 
tended  to  your  own  troubles.  At  this  very  moment, 
Flick  may  be  a  suicide.  He  started  for  the  river." 

"  He  may  choke  to  death,"  said  Belle  scornfully,  "  but 
he'll  never  end  in  water." 

"  He  is  exceedingly  distressed,"  said  Tootles,  who  was 
afraid  that,  if  he  annoyed  her,  she  might  stay.  "  Well, 
girls,  the  automobile  will  be  here  at  seven.  Those  who 
love  me  are  invited."  And  as  he  was  still  fearful  that 
she  might  linger,  he  added  artfully,  with  an  admiring 
glance  at  her  slender  body  and  saucy  face  tucked  under 
a  fur  toque  that  set  off  her  rebellious  shock  of  hair, 
"  Belle,  I  particularly  want  you ;  I  like  to  be  surrounded 
by  beautiful  women." 

As  Belle  Shaler  was  both  human  and  feminine,  she  was 
grateful,  and  showed  it,  first  by  abuse,  and  then  by  a  bit 
of  advice. 

"  Try  that  on  some  one  from  the  green  grass,"  she  said, 
with  a  tilt  of  her  nose.  "  Oh,  I'll  be  there."  And  she 
added,  patting  his  cheek :  "  Well,  he's  a  nice  boy, 
only" — this  in  a  lower  tone,  with  a  glance  at  Pansy  — 
"  don't  be  a  softy,  Tootles  —  give  her  hell." 

Tootles  answered  her  with  a  manly  glare,  to  convince 
her  of  his  inflexibility,  and  the  door  once  closed  behind 
her,  flung  a  leg  over  the  table,  flirted  with  the  work-bas 
ket,  waited  unsuccessfully  for  Pansy  to  take  the  initiative, 
and  ended  by  saying: 

"Well,  how  about  it?" 

"  About  what?  "  said  Pansy,  looking  up  as  though  she 
had  just  perceived  his  presence. 

"  Those  who  love  me  are  invited,"  said  Tootles,  folding 
his  arms  and  giving  her  a  killing  look,  as  he  remembered 
his  favorite  romantic  actor,  Mr.  Wilbur  Montague,  would 
have  done  in  such  a  situation. 


H4  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

"  Do  you  want  me  to  come?  " 

Saying  which,  she  put  down  the  sewing  and  looked 
again  into  his  eyes  with  a  tender  look  that  seemed  to  say, 
"  '  Why  hide  what's  in  your  heart,  dear? '  " 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Tootles,  falling  back  on  sarcasm  as  he 
felt  himself  crumbling  weakly ;  "  I  came  here  expressly 
to  beg  you  to  refrain." 

"  Now  you're  cross,"  said  Pansy,  quite  delighted.  "  I 
suppose  it's  them  flowers." 

"  What  flowers  ?  "  said  Tootles,  looking  around  in  sur 
prise.  He  examined  them  and  added :  "  Wired !  Cheap 
stuff.  Now,  isn't  that  just  like  a  shyster  lawyer!  " 

"Silly!"  said  Pansy,  bursting  into  laughter.  "How 
do  ye  know  that  ain't  for  Belle?  " 

"Really?"  said  Tootles,  beaming  as  though  the  sun 
had  suddenly  entered  the  room. 

"Goose!" 

"  You've  been  mean  enough  to  me,"  said  Tootles,  tak 
ing  her  hand.  "  You  might  let  up." 

"  Do  you  really  want  me  to  come?  "  said  Pansy,  smiling 
all  over. 

"  \Vant  you?  Why,  you  beautiful  creature,"  said 
Tootles,  ecstatically,  "  come,  and  I'll  go  before  you  with 
a  dust-pan  and  dust  the  way!  That's  how  much  I  want 
you." 

These  higher  flights  from  Tootles  always  moved 
Pansy,  who  had  a  penchant  for  refined  romance.  She 
relented,  and  there  was  quite  an  important  discussion  as 
to  whether  Tootles  did  not,  in  fact,  really  believe  that 
Myrtle  Popper's  eyes  were  more  unusual  than  hers,  and 
favor  the  figure  of  Belle  Shaler.  All  of  which  would 
have  had  an  agreeable  ending,  had  not  Belle  returned  and 
let  the  cat  out  of  the  bag  by  asking  Pansy  if  she  might 
wear  some  of  her  chrysanthemums. 

WThen  Tootles  returned,  to  find  King  O'Leary  in  a  per- 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  115 

plexed  self-examination,  he  was  in  a  fearful  state.  He 
slammed  the  door  and  dove  on  the  couch,  where  he  gave 
an  exhibition  of  tearing  his  hair  which  would  have  in 
spired  Mr.  Wilbur  Montague  himself  to  envy. 

"  Say,  what  is  this  ?  "  said  O'Leary,  after  a  moment  of 
amazement.  "  Love  or  bills  ?  " 

Tootles'  remarks,  while  intelligible,  remained  outside 
the  limits  of  organized  speech  which  the  wise  fathers  who 
established  the  dictionary  as  an  uplift  have  imposed.  In 
the  end,  when  calm  had  returned,  he  arose  and  said,  with 
terrific  impressiveness : 

"  That  ends  it !  King,  take  witness  —  I'm  through  — 
I'm  cured!" 

"  Oh,  Pansy's  a  good  sort,  all  right,"  said  O'Leary,  un 
derstanding. 

"  Good  sort !  Yes ;  certainly.  Do  tell  me  why  I,  St. 
George  Kidder,  with  a  career,  with  fame  and  with  riches, 
a  future,  should  be  running  after  a  little  smudgy-eyed 
slip  of  a  girl  who  hasn't  a  thought  in  her  head." 

"  Oh,  now !  " 

"  She  hasn't.  King,  I  swear  she  is  positively  stupid ! 
Fact.  Now,  honestly,  what  gets  me,  why  am  I  pattering 
at  her  heels  —  why  ?  " 

"  She  has  beautiful  eyes,  son." 

"  Do  you  think  that's  enough?     No ;  it's  not  enough !  " 

"  Well,  that  depends  how  close  they  are,"  said  King 
O'Leary  ruefully,  thinking  of  other  eyes. 

"  Do  you  see  me  now?  "  said  Tootles  fiercely.  "  I  am 
calm.  I  am  not  saying  this  because  I  am  excited.  I  am 
calm.  Now  listen :  I  can  look  at  myself  and  see  what's 
what.  King,  I  am  cured!  There's  nothing  —  nothing 
there.  A  pretty  face,  yes  —  but  that's  all.  Drinkwater 
can  have  her.  I  don't  care  now.  It's  only  vanity  — 
just  low,  despicable  vanity,  with  me,  I  admit.  Thank 
heaven,  I  am  strong  enough  to  admit  it,  and  because  I 


u6  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

admit  it,  I  can  laugh  at  it!"  He  gave  an  imitation  of 
great  hilarity.  "  Lord,  King,  what  asses  we  can  be !  " 

Belle  Shaler  rapped  at  the  door. 

"  Hey  there,  Tootles !  " 

"  Well,  what  ?  "  growled  Tootles,  stopping  short. 

"  Pansy  wants  to  speak  to  you." 

"Oh,  she  does?  Well,  I'm  in  the  bathtub,"  said 
Tootles,  and,  as  the  steps  went  down  the  hall,  he  whistled 
blithely  at  King  O'Leary,  and  said : 

"You  see?" 

"  Sure;  but  why  did  you  give  a  lie?  " 

"  I  dislike  undignified  discussions,"  said  Tootles  loftily. 

"  Well,  on  the  whole,  I  think  you're  right  about  the 
girls,"  said  O'Leary.  "  We'll  give  them  a  grand-stand 
finish  to-night,  and  then  we'll  get  down  to  tacks." 

Flick  came  in  with  his  hat  over  his  eyes,  saying  gloom- 
ily: 

"Is  the  wake  still  on?" 

While  King  O'Leary  was  explaining  the  finality  of  the 
ceremony,  there  came  a  rush  and  tap  outside,  and  the  voice 
of  Belle  Shaler  cried : 

"  Tootles,  Pansy's  cut  her  finger." 

"  Good  Lord !  "  said  Tootles,  who  sprang  from  the 
imaginary  bathtub  to  the  door,  to  find  Belle  Shaler  con 
fronting  him  with  a  scornful  glance. 

"Hmm!  Bathtub!  Well,  young  man,  I  know  what 
I'd  do  to  you." 

But  behind  Belle  was  Pansy,  with  soulful  eyes,  hold 
ing  out  an  imploring  hand,  saying  in  the  voice  of  an  an 
gel: 

"  Tootles  —  please !  " 

Tootles  went,  and  when  he  returned,  he  said  triumph 
antly,  deadened  to  all  sense  of  shame : 

"  It  was  all  Belle's  doing.  The  flowers  were  hers.  I 
suppose  I  was  a  little  hasty." 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  117 

They  departed  in  taxi-cabs  at  seven  sharp.  Tootles  in 
evening  dress,  pleasantly  aware  of  the  admiring  glance 
of  Pansy,  directed  at  the  irreproachable  set  of  his  white 
cravat ;  Flick  with  collar  reversed  and  a  black-silk  square 
drawn  over  the  opening  of  his  vest;  while  the  problem  of 
passing  King  O'Leary  through  the  barriers  of  evening 
dress  was  solved  by  the  simple  expedient  of  taking  the 
part  out  of  his  hair  and  decorating  him  with  a  flowing 
tie,  which,  as  Tootles  aptly  remarked,  made  the  difference 
between  a  genius  and  a  piker.  In  case  of  need  he  was 
to  be  addressed  as  "  Prince  Olgoff."  Despite  these  pre 
cautions  and  Tootles'  finished  air  of  distilling  money, 
whether  due  to  the  irreverent  expression  of  Flick  or  some 
suspicion  of  the  virtuosity  of  King  O'Leary,  they  were 
held  up  at  the  door  of  the  brilliant  dining-room.  While 
they  were  fidgeting  under  the  expert  scrutiny  of  the  head 
waiter,  the  ladies  all  aflutter,  who  should  come  up  from 
a  near-by  table  but  Dangerfield. 

"  Friends  of  mine,  Oscar,"  he  said.  "  One  of  your 
best  tables." 

He  glanced  at  Flick's  clerical  make-up  with  a  twinkle 
in  his  eye,  but  under  Tootles'  cautious  look  he  checked 
himself  and  took  the  introductions  gravely,  and  only 
Flick,  who  had  noted  the  apprehensive  glances  of  the 
group  of  men  he  had  left,  divined  under  the  correctness 
of  his  attitude  the  fierce  struggle  for  control  which  was 
going  on. 

"  Did  you  get  the  name  the  head  waiter  called  him?  " 
said  O'Leary  to  Tootles,  as  they  were  ushered  to  a  corner 
table  with  honors  due  to  an  ambassador. 

a   XT       " 

JNo. 

"  Neither  did  I,  but  it  was  not  Dangerfield  —  hello !  " 
"What  is  it?" 

O'Leary,  whose  eyes  had  found  some  one  in  the  crowd, 
mumbled  an  evasive  explanation  and  proceeded  to  arrange 


u8  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

the  table  with  special  attention  to  the  placing  of  Tootles 
and  Pansy. 

The  evening  made  a  terrific  impression  on  the  ladies, 
whose  eyes  began  to  glow  more  kindly  under  the  spell 
of  the  lights  and  the  music  and  the  awed  recognition  of 
what  each  dish  must  cost.  They  went  to  a  comic  opera 
in  a  box,  in  full  view  of  an  audience,  took  supper  among 
the  highest  paying  social  strata,  oblivious  of  the  rising 
fear  in  the  breasts  of  Flick  and  Tootles  lest  O'Leary 
might  make  an  error  in  subtraction.  King,  in  fact,  had 
calculated  so  fine  that  he  was  forced  to  send  the  others 
ahead  while  he  picked  a  quarrel  with  the  waiter  to  save 
the  tip  for  the  journey  home,  where  they  ended,  so  to 
speak,  in  a  dead  heat.  At  that,  disaster  had  hovered  near 
while  Flick  was  arguing  Belle  Shaler  out  of  a  second  ice. 

"  Did  you  see  him?  "  O'Leary  found  a  moment  to  whis 
per  to  Flick. 

"  Never  thought  he'd  get  out  of  the  door,"  said  Wilder, 
who  had  watched  DangerfiekTs  perilous  exit. 

"No,  not  Dangerfield  —  Drinkwater,"  said  O'Leary. 
"  I  was  afraid  Tootles  would  see  him." 

"  That  ferret !     Was  he  there  ?     Chasing  Pansy,  eh  ?  " 

"  No  —  he  was  there  on  other  business,"  said  O'Leary. 
"  Mark  my  words,  he's  on  Dangerfield's  trail,  boy. 
There's  some  dirty  business  in  the  wind." 

Tootles  approached,  and  they  switched  the  conversa 
tion.  Each  couple  now  showed  such  a  desire  to  linger  in 
the  shadows  that  they  arrived  at  the  sixth  floor  well  to 
gether. 

"  Mr.  St.  George  Kidder  has  a  few  words  to  say,"  said 
Flick  gravely. 

Tootles,  the  stage  having  been  thus  set,  brought  one 
lock  of  hair  over  his  forehead  in  the  wild,  romantic  way 
of  a  true  genius,  and  said : 

"Charming  and  beautiful   women  —  we  thank  you! 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  119 

We  thank  you  for  being  just  what  you  are  —  charming 
and  beautiful !  We  thank  you  the  more  because  to-night 
we  say  farewell.  You  laugh,  you  doubt  me  —  but  the 
laugh  is  on  you.  You  thought  to  roll  on  forever  in  lux 
ury.  To-night  you  have  assisted  at  our  farewell  appear 
ance  as  gilded  dispensers  of  ill-gotten  wealth." 

"  Amen !  "  said  Flick  and  O'Leary,  in  sepulchral  chorus. 

"  Despite  your  sneers,  your  abuse,  your  cruel  misunder 
standings,"  continued  Tootles,  charmed  with  the  sound  of 
his  own  voice,  "  we  have  shown  you  how  artists  dispense 
their  wealth.  While  gold  flowed  from  our  pockets,  we 
planned  only  how  to  give  you  pleasure.  Now  that  we 
face  a  cold,  hard  dawn,  without  a  cent,  without  a  friend, 
but  proudly,  with  the  inspiration  of  our  art,  we  do  not 
wait  to  be  abandoned  by  you  —  we  say  farewell !  " 

"  You're  broke  ? "  said  the  three  girls,  in  horrified 
chorus. 

"  Broke!"  said  the  three  men,  delighted;  and,  falling 
into  lockstep,  their  hats  waving  gaily,  they  marched  roar 
ing  with  laughter  down  the  hall  and  into  their  room. 


XII 

THE  next  morning  the  sixth  floor  was  treated  to  two 
surprises.  Before  the  home  of  the  Arts  a  placard  in  red 
ink  announced : 

WE  ARE  WORKING. 

NO  WOMEN  ADMITTED  BEFORE  TEA-TIME. 
P.  S.     Bring  the  Tea. 

Down  the  hall  was  the  sound  of  wrenching  planks,  and 
those  who  ventured  curiously  beheld  Dangerfield,  assisted 
by  Sassafras,  busy  at  the  task  of  unpacking,  while  Inga, 
from  her  point  of  vantage,  surveyed  the  operations. 

Since  New  Year's,  Dangerfield  had  made  no  attempt 
to  mingle  with  the  others,  though  several  times  he  had 
stopped  for  a  word  of  greeting,  as  though  in  self -excuse ; 
but  he  never  passed  the  threshold,  and,  after  a  moment's 
fidgeting  and  a  few  gracious  words,  he  departed. 

"  Sometimes  I  think  he'd  like  to  chum  in,  but  is  afraid 
to,"  said  Flick,  who  was  puzzled  by  this  lack  of  socia 
bility  —  not  being  affected  in  the  same  way. 

"  Let  him  alone ;  he'll  come  around  in  his  way,"  said 
O'Leary,  "  if  there's  anything  left  of  him." 

At  this  period,  though  he  would  not  have  admitted  it, 
he  felt  a  growing  antagonism,  and  the  cause  was  Inga. 
The  girl  had  a  drawing  force  of  which  he  was  always 
aware.  It  was  not  that  he  felt  sentimentally  moved,  for 
there  wras  an  ingrained  common  sense  about  him  that 
warned  him  of  the  folly  of  such  a  hope.  She  perplexed 
him ;  she  held  him ;  she  aroused  a  certain  sense  of  combat 
in  him,  like  a  spirited  horse.  It  was  not  that  he  would 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  121 

ever  be  in  love  with  her,  but  that,  rating  her  high  in  his 
experience,  it  rankled  in  his  vanity,  not  that  she  was  in 
different  to  him  but  that  she  should  have  gone  so  directly 
to  another,  who  had  not  even  sought  her.  Yet  he  had 
gone  twice  in  the  fortnight  at  her  call  to  help  her  through 
stormy  nights  with  the  derelict. 

Inga,  alone  of  the  floor,  knew  the  full  extent  of  the 
turbulent  voyage  through  which  Dangerfield  was  passing. 
Since  the  night  on  which  she  had  committed  the  error  of 
attempting  to  restrain  him,  she  had  refrained  from  put 
ting  any  brake  upon  his  actions,  holding  herself  in  readi 
ness  to  come  to  him  in  the  limp  hours  of  succeeding  weak 
ness  and  despair.  This  attitude  awakened  his  curiosity, 
as  it  gained  his  confidence.  Once  he  even  asked  to  see 
her  room.  She  refused. 

"Why  not?"  he  asked. 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  said  thoughtfully,  "  but  I  had 
rather  you  wouldn't." 

"It's  not — "  Then  he  stopped.  It  could  not  have 
been  on  account  of  prudery.  "  No;  it's  not  that  you  care 
what  the  others  say." 

"  No ;  it's  not  that,"  she  said,  amused  at  the  thought. 

"Well,  then?" 

"  It's  a  feeling  —  I  don't  know.  It's  something  I  want 
to  keep  to  myself  —  part  of  me.  You  don't  understand." 

He  shook  his  head,  and,  struck  with  the  peculiar  in 
tensity  of  her  eyes,  revery  mixed  almost  with  a  touch  of 
fear,  he  said  impulsively, 

"  Inga,  I  can't  make  you  out." 

"  Don't." 

This  reply  dissatisfied  him.  His  eyes  began  to  follow 
her  more  intently  when  they  were  alone,  and  several  times 
unsuccessfully  he  returned  to  the  attack. 

During  this  time;  the  visitors,  men  of  his  own  world, 
who  flitted  in  for  a  brief  duty-visit,  began  to  fall  away. 


122  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

He  saw  them  go  with  a  scorn  and  bitterness  at  first,  and 
then  with  a  sort  of  relief.  Sassafras  received  orders  to 
announce  that  he  was  out,  except  to  two  men,  lawyers 
evidently,  who  came  from  time  to  time.  Curiously 
enough,  even  after  the  wildest  nights,  he  never  showed 
any  remorse.  When  Inga  was  there  he  often  fell  into 
profound  fits  of  moroseness,  in  which  he  would  sit  with 
his  fists  clutched  to  his  mouth,  gnawing  at  his  nails,  star 
ing  at  a  medallion,  a  Delia  Robbia,  or  a  Perseus  of  Ben- 
venuto  Cellini,  which  he  had  brought  forth  out  of  the 
disorder. 

She  never  relinquished  her  intention  of  getting  him 
into  an  atmosphere  of  calm  and  order,  and  occasionally 
tried  by  devious  ways  to  suggest  the  subject  of  unpack 
ing.  But  the  moment  the  man  felt  a  compelling  hand, 
some  malicious  and  refractory  devil  seemed  to  rise  up  in 
him,  and  he  would  say : 

"  I  know  what  you're  after.     Well,  I  won't  do  it." 

Then,  one  morning,  to  her  surprise,  he  called  her  and 
said  abruptly : 

"  Well,  I'm  going  to  fix  up  the  studio.  There  now  — 
will  you  be  satisfied  ?  " 

"  Thank  you,"  she  said,  with  a  bright  nod. 

"  Oh,  you  needn't  thank  me,"  he  said  grimly.  "  Wait 
and  see.  You  may  regret  it." 

They  set  to  work  with  a  vim,  and  once  launched  on  a 
new  idea,  he  threw  himself  into  it  with  the  enthusiasm  of 
a  child.  Sassafras  was  pressed  into  service  (having  sur 
reptitiously  jammed  the  elevator),  rolling  his  eyes  at  the 
magnificence  he  uncovered.  They  spent  a  gay  morning 
transforming  the  boarded  bareness  of  the  studio  with  the 
warm,  green  background  of  great  tapestries,  restful  in 
harmony  and  dreamy  verdure.  The  man  had  a  love  of 
beauty  as  intense  as  all  his  desires,  and  if  she  did  not 
always  understand  the  value  of  the  really  fine  bits  of 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  123 

Louis  XV  furniture,  spreading  fautenils  and  the  great 
flat-top  desk  with  bulging  curves  which  reminded  one  of 
a  pompous  burgomaster,  or  the  shadowy  massiveness  of 
the  carved-oak  sideboard,  she  had  an  instinctive  eye  for 
proportion  and  delicacy. 

"  Well,  I  suppose  we'll  have  to  stop  for  lunch,"  he  said 
at  last. 

"  Send  Sam  for  sandwiches,  and  let's  go  on,"  she  said 
eagerly. 

"  Do  you  want  to  ?  " 

"  Indeed  I  do!" 

They  lunched  on  a  great  Florentine  table  of  carved  oak, 
ample  enough  to  seat  a  dozen,  discussing  where  the  side 
board  should  stand  and  the  old  Roman  chest  with  beaten 
brass  clasps.  Underneath  them,  a  great  rug  in  the  center 
transformed  the  floor  with  the  heavy  faded  yellows  and 
greens  of  its  rich  softness. 

"  We'll  draw  a  curtain  of  China  silk,  a  warm  gray,  over 
the  skylight,"  he  said,  studying  the  harmonies  that  had 
come  into  the  room.  "  Hello !  What  are  you  doing  ?  " 
he  added,  smiling. 

She  had  stolen  from  her  slippers,  and  was  moving 
lightly  over  the  deep  Oriental  rug,  reveling  in  its  velvety 
voluptuousness. 

"  I  love  the  very  feel  of  it,"  she  said,  her  face  flushing 
in  the  first  emotion  she  had  shown  him. 

"  Go  back  into  the  tapestry,"  he  said,  with  mock  stern 
ness,  and  half  closing  his  eyes,  he  nodded  approvingly, 
his  glance  following  the  flowing  line  of  the  deep-green 
silk  skirt  which  turned  from  the  graceful  hip,  the  firm, 
dark  neck  rising  above  the  youthful  breast,  and  the  for- 
estlike  wildness  of  the  oval  face. 

She  slipped  her  green-silk  feet  back  into  the  slippers 
and  said  impulsively : 

"  It's  all  just  as  I  thought  you  would  have  it." 


124  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

"  Oh,  it  is?  "  he  said,  enjoying  her  enthusiasm. 

"  Things  you  live  with  tell  so  much,"  she  said,  moving 
curiously  toward  the  chest. 

"  You've  got  some  strange  ideas  about  me,"  he  said 
grimly. 

"  I  have  the  right  one,"  she  said  calmly.  She  laid  her 
hand  on  the  chest.  "  What's  hidden  here  ?  " 

"So  you  can  have  curiosity,  too?"  he  said,  smiling, 
caught  by  the  rare  mood  of  enthusiasm,  which  seemed 
to  waken  sudden  delicate  flushes  and  sensitive  emotions 
across  the  blue  veil  of  her  eyes  and  the  finely  turned 
upper  lip. 

He  opened  the  chest  and  drew  forth  an  armful  of  old 
silks  and  velvets,  rare  satins  and  brocades,  spilling  a  riot 
of  color  into  her  arms  —  leaping,  flashing  swirls  of  sap 
phire,  gold,  and  faded  amethyst.  She  put  them  aside, 
and,  with  a  cry  of  delight,  seized  something  lying  in  the 
chest  —  a  rose  velvet  with  the  faintest  silver  sheen,  which 
brought  back  the  pageantry  of  the  Middle  Ages. 

"  How  wonderful !  " 

"  You  have  a  good  instinct,"  he  said,  nodding. 
"  That's  Italian,  thirteenth  century,  the  rarest  of  all. 
What  color,  eh?" 

She  wrapped  her  arms  in  it  and  drew  her  cheek  across 
the  glorious  velvet,  which  might  have  lain  against  the 
cheek  of  a  storied  princess,  and  as  her  breath  drew  deep, 
across  the  dark  face  there  spread  such  a  blush  of  pleasure 
that  she  seemed  to  absorb  the  rare  tint  into  her  own  body. 
He  took  it  from  her  and  gazed  at  it  hungrily,  as  though 
he  were  plunging  his  look  into  some  gorgeous  autumnal 
pool,  drinking  in  its  ecstasy  with  the  mingled  pain  and 
pleasure  of  a  lost  love  remembered. 

"  Color  —  color !  "  he  said,  held  by  it.  "  It  thrills  you 
like  the  first  sight  of  your  own  country." 

All  at  once,  with  a  smothered  cry  —  the  longing  of  his 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  125 

soul  for  the  lost  days  of  inspiration,  perhaps  —  he  struck 
the  chest  with  the  full  force  of  his  fist  and  turned  away 
in  rebellion. 

"God!" 

"  Don't."  She  laid  her  hands  quickly  on  his  shoulders, 
straight  and  slim,  as  she  stood  gazing  earnestly  into  his 
tormented  eyes.  "  Mr.  Dangerfield,  that'll  come  again." 

"Never;  no,  never,"  he  said  gloomily,  and  his  lips 
twitched  as  he  glanced  away. 

Sassafras  returned  at  this  moment.  Then  they  set  to 
work  again,  but  she  had  lost  him  for  the  day.  The 
exuberance  had  departed.  He  gave  his  assent  in  mono 
syllables,  and  seemed  to  have  so  completely  lost  interest 
that  she  hastened  the  work,  fearing  that  the  whim  would 
seize  him  to  countermand  it.  The  worst  of  it  was  that 
in  such  moods  there  was  no  arguing  with  him,  as  he 
seemed  to  go  so  completely  from  her  as  to  have  no  sense 
of  what  he  heard.  With  the  coming  of  the  night  and  the 
blazing-out  of  the  lights,  he  began  to  get  restless,  wan 
dering  about  the  room  as  though  each  thing  in  it  were 
raising  a  haunting  memory  before  him.  Once  he  ob 
jected,  when  Sassafras  had  started  to  unpack  the  easel 
and  the  paint-boxes. 

"  Not  that !  "  he  said  angrily. 

"  Unpack  them ;  you  can  put  them  away  afterward," 
she  said  casually.  _ 

He  looked  at  her  so  furiously  that,  for  a  moment,  she 
half  expected  an  angry  answer.  Then  he  laughed  and 
shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  I  know  your  idea  —  little  good  it  will  do !  "  he  said, 
with  a  stubborn  look,  and  went  to  the  window,  gazing  out 
without  further  notice  of  what  she  did. 

There  was  yet  much  to  be  done,  but  the  essential  had 
been  accomplished.  The  studio  had  been  rid  of  boxes 
and  wrappings,  and  though  frames  and  bric-a-brac,  porce- 


126  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

lains,  bronzes,  terra  cottas,  stood  against  the  walls,  min 
gled  with  the  dull  gray  of  rapiers,  green  masks  and  brown 
boxing  gloves,  with  glowing  pools  of  burnished  copper, 
the  room  was  humanized. 

"  That's  enough  for  to-night,"  she  said,  after  she  had 
sent  Sassafras  away. 

He  turned,  and  the  first  thing  he  saw  was  the  easel. 
'  You  seem  to  know  where  to  place  it,"  he  said  ab 
ruptly. 

"  I  am  glad  that's  right,"  she  said  quietly. 

"  Well,  now  that  you've  gotten  me  to  do  it,"  he  said, 
staring  dully  about  the  room,  his  nails  at  his  mouth, 
"  we'll  see  what  will  come  of  it." 

She  started  to  leave. 

"  Wait!  I  don't  mean  to  be  rude,"  he  said  nervously, 
"only " 

"Why,  Mr.  Dangerfield,  don't  say  that!"  she  said 
quietly.  "  I  understand." 

He  nodded,  and  rather  absent-mindedly  patted  her 
shoulder.  Then,  apparently  irrelevantly,  he  said : 

"  Afraid  I'm  going  off  on  a  wild  night,  aren't  you?  " 

"  I  wasn't  thinking  of  it." 

"  See  here,"  he  said  abruptly ;  "  I  want  you  to  under 
stand  one  thing  —  that  isn't  the  trouble  —  I  can  stop  that 
any  time  I  want " —  he  added  almost  viciously  — "  but  I 
don't  want  to."  Then  he  said,  seemingly  without  reason, 
as  though  his  mind  were  vacillating  from  one  extreme 
to  the  other :  "  How  long  is  it  to  the  twentieth  ?  " 

"  Why,  twelve  days." 

"  Still  twelve?  The  twentieth  —  that's  a  date  to  re 
member,"  he  said,  as  though  to  himself. 

She  saw  him  frown  and  stare  past  her,  as  that  other 
self  came  into  his  eyes,  bristling,  savage,  rebelling  against 
some  inner  torture. 

He  started  at  the  sound  of  her  voice,  looked  at  her  a 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  127 

moment  as  though  trying  to  account  for  her  presence,  and 
ended  by  saying : 

"  Well,  it  was  curious." 

"What?" 

"  How  you  knew  where  to  place  that  easel." 

"  I  don't  think  so,"  she  said  quietly. 

He  waited  a  moment,  evidently  turning  something  over 
in  his  mind,  before  saying  with  the  same  abruptness : 

"  Do  I  remind  you  of  any  one?  " 

She  glanced  at  him  quickly,  and  then  shook  her  head 
twice  energetically. 

"That's  strange  —  well,  you  made  me  think  so,"  he 
said,  and  without  explaining  his  meaning,  he  went  off. 

Having  permitted  her  to  influence  him  so  far,  out  of 
pure  deviltry,  he  seemed  determined  to  make  her  regret 
it.  To  the  surprise  of  every  one,  he  became  exceedingly 
sociable,  dropping  in  at  all  hours,  with  the  exception  of 
tea-time,  when  the  girls  came  back  at  the  end  of  the  day. 
He  was  always  polite  to  them;  but  it  was  plain  to  see 
that  they  did  not  interest  him  in  the  least.  This  new 
phase  of  Dangerfield's  had  unfortunately  an  upsetting 
influence,  just  as  virtue  had  set  in  strongly,  with  Tootles 
composing  the  figure-scheme  of  his  monumental  work 
which  would  represent  the  ages  in  admiration  before  the 
apotheosis  of  the  well-dressed  man;  Flick  beginning  new 
duties  as  the  press-agent  for  a  folding  tooth-brush  which 
could  be  carried  in  the  vest  pocket;  and  King  O'Leary 
installed  at  the  piano  at  Campeau's  restaurant.  If 
Tootles  and  O'Leary  maintained  some  semblance  of  con 
centration,  Flick,  who  never  refused  an  invitation  to 
patrol  the  city  or  to  usher  in  the  sun,  abandoned  the  fold 
ing  tooth-brush  on  the  second  day  of  sightseeing  in  Dan 
gerfield's  company.  Sometimes  the  night  ended  in  the 
studio  with  boxing  or  fencing  or  a  group  about  the  card- 


128  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

table,  and  Sassafras  promoted  to  the  station  and  perqui 
sites  of  a  butler.  It  was  not  so  much  the  drinking  that 
went  on,  though  there  was  enough  of  that,  but  the  waste 
of  energy  that  was  appalling.  Though  Dangerfield  drank 
heavily  and  continuously,  he  had  a  knack  of  concealing  it, 
of  always  remaining  within  the  limits  of  his  dignity.  It 
was  rather  his  consuming  of  vitality  and  lack  of  sleep 
that  seemed  to  be  wearing  him  down  before  their  eyes. 

"  I  am  a  classy,  two-handed  little  champion  myself," 
said  Flick,  shaking  his  head ;  "  but  I've  got  to  sleep  once 
in  three  days  to  get  the  kinks  out  of  my  hair.  I've  seen 
some  tough  ones  in  my  day,  but  my  hat's  off  to  this  one !  " 

"  He  can't  go  on  this  way  forever,"  said  Tootles,  seri 
ously. 

''Right!  There's  a  smash-up  coming  soon,"  said 
O'Leary  laconically.  "  I  know  the  signs." 

And  then  a  curious  interruption  occurred. 

They  were  all  in  Dangerfield's  studio,  about  eleven 
o'clock  one  night  —  a  mixed  group,  for  Dangerfield  and 
Flick,  in  the  wanderings  of  the  night  before,  had  been 
seized  with  the  idea  of  giving  a  boxing  carnival  and  had 
annexed  two  ornaments  of  the  profession,  Spike  Feeley 
and  Gumbo  Rickey,  who  knew  Flick  of  old.  In  order 
to  impress  Tootles,  JFlick  had  plotted  a  dramatic  finale,  in 
which,  after  the  professionals  had  disposed  of  the  ama 
teurs,  they  were  to  go  down  before  the  might  of  his  thin 
arms.  Unfortunately,  the  imminence  of  this  conclusion 
and  the  slight  floating  doubt  which  always  accompanies 
trafficking  with  men  of  lower  ethical  standards  had  so 
weighed  upon  Flick  that  he  had  resorted  to  much  arti 
ficial  encouragement,  until  by  the  time  Spike  Feeley  had 
floored  Drink  water  (which  was  part  of  the  program)  and 
King  O'Leary  and  Gumbo  Rickey  had  slugged  each  other 
to  their  hearts'  content,  Flick,  the  coming  champion,  was 
heard  to  whisper  to  his  antagonist : 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  129 

"  First  time  —  down  —  you  down ;  make  sure  —  see !  " 

Spike,  to  the  honor  of  the  profession,  carried  out  his 
part  of  the  contract  to  the  extent  of  going  down  under 
the  first  assault,  with  a  realistic  imitation  of  unconscious 
ness.  Unfortunately,  Flick  went  down  also,  and,  going 
down,  stayed  there ;  so  that  a  new  record  was  established 
in  the  annals  of  the  fistic  art  by  the  spectacle  of  both  men 
knocked  out  by  one  blow.  When  the  laughter  and  con 
fusion  had  subsided,  Dangerfield  made  up  his  mind  sud 
denly  to  put  on  the  gloves.  Until  now,  though  he  had 
fenced  several  bouts  with  Mr.  Cornelius,  who  wielded 
the  rapier  with  surprising  dexterity,  Dangerfield  had  never 
boxed;  but  something  in  the  joyful  fury  of  O'Leary's 
bout  had  sent  the  fighting  blood  coursing  in  him.  He 
stripped  to  the  waist,  and,  in  the  glare  of  the  top  light 
which  cut  its  brilliant  circle  through  the  obscurity  of  the 
farther  room,  his  body  came  out  impressively,  muscled  and 
knitted,  despite  the  loose  coating  of  flesh  that  lay  over 
it. 

"  Look  out  for  yourself,  Spike!  he  said  suddenly,  as 
Feeley  slouched  into  a  lazy,  receptive  attitude;  and  the 
joy  with  which  his  voice  rang  warned  them  that  he  could 
box. 

Feeley  came  forward  languidly  with  an  orthodox  feint. 
Dangerfield  walked  into  him  and  drove  a  hard  left  straight 
to  the  face  that  sent  the  professional  back  with  a  rude 
jar  and  a  quick  flash  of  temper. 

"  All  right,  if  that's  the  way  ye's  fightin',"  he  said,  and 
he  came  back  crouching,  with  chin  thrust  out. 

"  I  told  you  to  look  out,"  said  Dangerfield,  laughing, 
and  the  next  moment  they  were  at  it,  back  and  forth, 
hammer  and  tongs,  fast  and  heavy. 

In  the  long  run,  condition  must,  of  course,  have  told, 
though,  to  be  fair,  the  professional,  too,  had  been  in  the 
cups  that  night ;  but  at  a  quick,  mixing  scrap,  Dangerfield 


1 30  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

had  him  at  his  mercy.  There  was  something  ferocious 
in  the  way  he  plunged  in,  as  though  reveling  in  the  op 
portunity  of  throwing  off  the  tension  under  which  he 
had  struggled  —  a  certain  wild  delight  in  the  clash  of 
bodies  which  caused  the  on-lookers  to  watch  him  a  little 
apprehensively.  He  caught  hard  smashes  with  a  reckless 
laugh,  giving  in  kind.  Once  he  went  reeling  against  the 
old  Roman  chest  and  almost  over,  but  he  steadied  him 
self  and  fought  back,  rocking  the  other  man  under  the 
impact  of  his  blows.  It  was  no  tame  boxing  exhibition 
but  a  fight  for  blood  by  now,  and  the  spectators  were  on 
their  feet,  shouting  in  excitement,  Drinkwater  quite  be 
side  himself  with  curiosity  and  satisfaction  at  his  host's 
exhibition.  A  blow  caught  Feeley  full  on  the  head;  he 
staggered,  and  Dangerfield  stepped  in  with  a  mighty  drive 
at  the  body  which  lifted  him  off  the  floor  and  flung  him 
crashing  into  a  pile  of  copper  plaques  that  went  clanging 
in  every  direction.  .  .  .  And  at  that  precise  moment  the 
door  opened  and  a  woman  stood  looking  in.  Feeley, 
bounding  up,  came  rushing  in  furiously,  but  Dangerfield 
stopped  him  with  a  quick  oath,  and  he  turned,  gazing, 
too,  at  the  tall  figure,  purposely  concealed  in  furs  and 
heavy  veils. 

There  was  a  silence  as  flat  as  a  calm  in  a  gale.  Each 
recognized  at  once  that  it  was  a  woman  of  the  world  and 
that  she  had  the  right  to  be  there,  and  drew  back  so  as  to 
leave  the  room  to  the  two  figures :  the  woman  drawn  up 
scornfully  against  the  door,  and  Dangerfield,  with  his  lips 
twitching  and  his  curious  bearlike  stare,  facing  her,  with 
the  white  lights  running  over  his  glistening  neck  and 
torso.  It  was  a  hard  moment  for  him,  and  those  who 
knew  the  man  wondered  into  what  paroxysm  of  anger  he 
might  go.  In  the  end  the  breeding  in  him  won  out,  and 
though  his  rage  flashed  up  at  the  position  into  which  she 
liad  put  him,  he  held  himself  in  fairly  well.  Fortunately, 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  131 

as   he   was    standing   there,    seeking    an    excuse,    King 
O'Leary  came  to  his  assistance. 

"  Better  clear  out,  you  fellows,"  he  sang  out ;  and  with 
that,  like  a  herd  of  huddling  sheep,  awkwardly  and  nerv 
ously,  they  crowded  out  of  the  room,  suddenly  quieted 
and  sobered.  King  O'Leary,  who  came  last,  closed  the 
door,  leaving  Dangerheld  alone  with  the  woman,  who,  by 
the  possessive  assurance  of  her  attitude,  they  instinctively 
divined  must  be  his  wife. 


XIII 


THIS  dramatic  interruption  made  a  tremendous  com 
motion.  The  party  broke  up  instantly.  O'Leary,  who 
had  been  watching  Drinkwater  from  the  moment  Dan- 
gerfield  had  put  on  the  gloves,  purposely  left  the  door 
of  their  room  open  into  the  hall. 

"  What's  going  on  there  is  no  business  of  ours/'  he  said 
grimly.  "  I  propose  to  keep  it  so." 

Sure  enough,  presently  along  came  Drinkwater,  head 
down,  as  though  unaware  of  the  open  door. 

"Hey,  there  I" 

At  O'Leary' s  call,  the  elongated  figure  pulled  up  ab 
ruptly,  and  Drinkwater's  gipsy  face  loomed  high  in  the 
door-frame. 

"  Yes?"  he  said,  blowing  nervously  through  his  nose. 
"What  is  it?" 

"  I  say,  Drinkwater,  better  keep  away  from  that  end  of 
the  hall,"  said  O'Leary  casually.  "  You  see,  you  might 
overhear  something  you  oughtn't  to." 

Drinkwater  looked  around  with  an  excellent  simulation 
of  surprise. 

"Really?"  he  said  affably.  "I  wasn't  noticing. 
Good-night."  With  which,  smiling,  he  moved  away,  and 
quite  casually  he  reached  out  and  closed  the  door. 

O'Leary,  whistling  to  himself,  rose  and  opened  it  again, 
saying  sarcastically: 

"  Now,  wasn't  that  cute  of  him!  " 

Presently,  just  as  he  had  expected,  Drinkwater  came 
by  the  door  again. 

"Hey,  there!" 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  133 

The  lawyer  stopped,  but  this  time  there  was  no  smile 
on  his  face. 

"  Well,  what  is  it? "  he  said  curtly. 

"  Told  you  to  keep  away  from  this  end  —  savvy  ?  " 
said  O'Leary,  looking  at  him. 

"  I  do  not  recognize,  O'Leary,"  said  the  lawyer,  puffing 
after  every  third  word,  and  speaking  as  though  he  were 
addressing  the  court,  "  any  right  of  yours  to  tell  me  what 
I  should  do." 

"  You  don't?  Well,  I  do.  What's  going  on  in  there 
is  nothing  in  your  life,  old  horse,  so  I've  just  made  up 
my  mind  to  sit  here  and  see  that  no  little  five-dollar  law 
yer  goes  soft-footing  it  down  there  to  sneak  around. 
You  see,  Drinkwater,  I'm  on  to  your  game." 

"  What  do  you  mean?  "  said  the  other,  quietly  enough, 
though  his  fingers  were  twitching  at  the  hem  of  his  coat. 

"  Think  it  over,"  said  O'Leary.  "  I'm  not  at  all  cer 
tain  that  this  isn't  some  of  your  work  to-night.  But  you 
heard  what  I  said.  Now,  git !  " 

Drinkwater  stood  looking  at  him  stubbornly,  hatred 
fairly  oozing  out  of  his  brilliant  black  eyes  that  were  now 
drawn  and  wicked  as  a  cornered  reptile's.  Then  he  blew 
through  his  nostrils  again  and  went  up  the  hall. 

They  waited  with  a  sense  of  impending  tragedy  — 
Tootles  at  the  table  drawing  nervous  caricatures  on  a  pad, 
Flick  and  Schneibel  by  the  window,  talking  in  low  tones, 
O'Leary  moving  restlessly  up  and  down  the  room.  The 
woman  had  been  there  an  hour  by  the  watch  which  he 
jerked  out  every  five  minutes,  when,  all  at  once,  they 
heard  steps  coming  down  the  hall.  O'Leary  turned  with 
a  sudden  start  and  shot  over  to  the  door,  whether  he  be 
lieved  it  was  Drinkwater  again  or  whether  he  had  some 
other  possibility  in  mind.  This  time  it  was  Mr.  Cor 
nelius,  who,  unable  to  contain  his  anxiety,  had  come  down 
for  news. 


i34  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

"  Now,  isn't  this  a  nice  damn  thing  ?  "  he  said,  in  his 
staccato,  excited  way,  and  they  noticed  that  his  gray 
mustache,  ordinarily  so  immaculate,  was  sadly  twisted 
and  awry.  He  stood  there,  fretting  and  undecided. 
"  How  long  is  it  now  since  she  was  there? " 

"  Over  an  hour." 

Instinctively  they  were  silent,  listening.  From  the 
next  room  not  a  sound  came  to  them. 

"You  hear  anything?"  said  the  baron. 

"  Once.  They  were  getting  up  pretty  high,"  said 
O'Leary.  "  I  gave  them  a  rap  or  two  on  the  wall." 

"  I  don't  like  it  —  line  sale  affaire!  Que  diable  vient- 
elle  faire  id?  "  said  the  baron,  twitching  at  the  tuft  under 
his  chin. 

"  Do  you  think  some  one  had  better  break  it  up?  "  said 
O'Leary,  who  showed  a  good  deal  of  uneasiness,  for  him. 

Tootles  drew  a  big  breath,  shoved  away  his  pad,  and 
went  to  listen  by  the  wall. 

"  A  nice  damn  thing,"  said  Mr.  Cornelius,  angrily. 
"  What  a  stupid  damn  thing  —  eh  ?  Yes,  perhaps  some 
one  had  better  go.  One  never  knows  —  at  such  times. 
He  is  —  so  —  so  wild !  " 

"  If  any  one  goes,  it's  up  to  you,  Baron,"  said  O'Leary 
solemnly.  "  You've  got  more  of  the  inside  dope  than 
we.  It  wouldn't  be  quite  so  raw  — "  He  pulled  out  his 
watch  again,  though  he  had  consulted  it  only  a  few  mo 
ments  before,  and  said  nervously:  "Yes;  darned  if  I 
don't  think  you'd  better  see  what's  going  on." 

At  this  moment  the  door  of  the  corner  studio  opened, 
and  they  heard  Dangerfield  say: 

"Too  late  —  I've  said  it  —  you've  got  just  four  days 
more."  Then  something  unintelligible  in  the  woman's 
voice,  evidently  a  supplication,  for  he  replied  with  a 
scornful  laugh: 

"  With  all  your  cleverness  —  you're  not  clever  enough. 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  135 

You  should  have  known  the  man  you  were  dealing  with." 

The  nerves  of  the  listeners  were  at  such  a  tension  that 
they  were  quite  unconscious  of  their  exposed  position  in 
the  hall.  Dangerfield  perceived  them  first,  for  he  drew 
up,  folded  his  arms  and  said : 

"  Don't  waste  time  —  good-by." 

Whether  or  not  she  became  aware  of  her  listeners,  she 
seemed  to  accept  the  inevitable,  for,  after  a  moment  she 
said  quietly: 

"  You  will,  at  least,  I  suppose,  see  me  to  my  car  ?  " 

He  hesitated,  and  was  about  to  comply,  though  it  was 
evident  that  it  went  against  the  grain  to  do  so,  when  the 
door  of  the  little  studio  opened  abruptly  and  Inga  came 
out. 

"  Don't  go !  "  she  said  emphatically,  moving  directly  to 
Dangerfield  and  touching  his  arm. 

This  unlooked-for  action  on  the  part  of  Inga  left  them 
all  amazed.  Curiously  enough,  the  only  one  who  seemed 
to  take  it  as  a  matter  of  course  was  Dangerfield. 

"  Why  do  you  say  that  ?  "  he  said  sharply,  yet  seeming 
to  give  the  matter  attention. 

"  Don't  go  —  don't !  "  she  repeated  insistently. 

While  every  one  was  waiting  for  what  was  going  to 
happen  next,  the  woman  said  quietly,  with  supreme  inso 
lence,  as  though  such  persons  as  Inga  were  beneath  her 
notice : 

'  You  have  not  quite  lost,  I  suppose,  all  sense  of  de 
cency?  Kindly  take  me  out  of  this  humiliating  scene." 

There  was  something  in  her  tone  that  did  not  quite 
ring  true.  It  was  too  calm,  too  calculatedly  unresentful, 
perhaps.  At  any  rate,  each  was  conscious  of  an  uneasy 
sense  of  distrust.  Dangerfield,  who  had  been  looking 
at  Inga's  tense  face,  seemed  to  make  up  his  mind  all  at 
once. 
,  "  O'Leary,  are  you  there?  "  he  said  abruptly. 


136  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

To  the  surprise  of  the  others,  O'Leary  stepped  forward 
at  once  and  blurted  out : 

"  Miss  Sonderson's  advice  is  good.  If  you  want,  I'll 
show  the  lady  down." 

"  Do,"  said  Dangerfield,  who  by  now  was  in  a  high 
pitch  of  excitement,  staring  with  shifty  suspicion  at  the 
woman.  At  such  moments,  there  was  something  brood 
ing  and  combustible  about  him  that  gave  one  the  sen 
sation  of  walking  over  a  mine. 

The  woman  drew  hastily  away,  as  though  really 
alarmed ;  then  she  turned  on  them  as  they  stood  together, 
Inga's  hand  still  resting  on  his  arm,  as  though  to  quiet 
him. 

"  So  that's  how  it  is?"  she  said,  with  a  high-pitched 
laugh. 

Then  she  turned  and  went  around  the  corner.  At  the 
steps  she  seemed  to  see  O'Leary  for  the  first  time. 

"  I  don't  need  your  assistance,"  she  said  curtly. 

O'Leary,  without  reply,  continued  to  follow.  At  the 
bottom  of  the  flight  she  turned  again.  This  time  her 
voice  was  conciliating. 

"  Thank  you,  but  I  prefer  to  go  on  alone." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  O'Leary,  as  though  he  had  grown 
suddenly  deaf ;  "  but  it's  no  trouble  —  none  at  all." 

At  the  next  flight  she  wheeled  around  with  abrupt  de 
termination. 

"  You  evidently  don't  understand  me,"  she  said 
sharply.  "  Your  presence  is  obnoxious.  I  wish  to  be 
left  alone." 

"  Very  probably,"  said  O'Leary,  without,  however, 
having  shown  any  signs  of  departing. 

"  Do  you  hear  me?  "  she  said  angrily. 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  Useless  to  talk  to  me  like  that,  my  lady,"  he  said, 
exaggerating  his  role  for  purposes  of  his  own.  "  I'm  no 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  137 

gentleman,  you  see  —  you  can't  put  those  tricks  over  on 
me.  I'm  just  King  O'Leary,  and  I'm  going  to  see  that 
you  get  out  of  here.  Now  that  you  understand  things 
better,  will  you  go  quietly,  or  do  you  want  me  to  pick 
you  up  and  carry  you?  " 

She  drew  back  with  a  cry. 

"  Don't  touch  me !  " 

"Well,  which  is  it?" 

She  made  up  her  mind  quickly;  evidently  she  could 
size  up  a  situation  and  reconcile  herself  to  it  when  faced 
with  a  crisis,  for  she  turned  and  went  down  the  other 
flights  without  a  word. 

On  the  second  floor,  his  ear  caught  the  sounds  of  hur 
ried,  slipping  steps.  He  turned  hastily,  almost  certain 
that  he  had  seen  the  passage  of  some  tall,  shifting  body, 
but  he  did  not  dare  to  investigate  them,  with  the  duty  in 
hand. 

"Are  you  satisfied  now?"  she  said,  when  they  had 
reached  the  ground  floor.  "  Your  intention  is  not  to  an 
noy  me,  is  it?  " 

He  stood  stroking  his  chin,  undecided.  She  profited 
by  the  moment's  indecision  to  flit  swiftly  out  of  the 
ghostly  arcade  toward  the  avenue.  He  did  not  move  pur 
posely  until  he  had  seen  her  round  the  corner,  where  she 
gave  a  hasty  backward  glance  to  assure  herself  that  she 
was  not  followed.  Then,  making  up  his  mind  suddenly, 
he  went  down  the  arcade  and  out  onto  the  sidewalk,  for 
spying  was  not  in  his  nature.  She  was  at  the  door  of  a 
closed  touring  car ;  some  one  was  giving  her  a  hand  from 
within,  and  on  the  curb  two  men  were  standing.  She  saw 
O'Leary  start  angrily  toward  them,  and  said  something  in 
peremptory  command,  and  before  he  could  come  rushing 
up,  the  Irish  anger  in  him  awaking  at  the  suspicion  of 
foul  play,  they  had  jumped  in  after  her  and  the  car  had 
rushed  away  through  the  muddy  slush. 


138  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

Remembering  the  shadow  he  had  seen  on  the  second 
floor,  he  hastened  back.  He  made  a  thorough  inspection 
of  the  halls  without  finding  any  one  in  these  old  corridors 
given  over  to  business  offices.  Then  he  went  directly  to 
Drinkwater's  room  and  rapped  sharply  on  the  glowing 
glass.  In  a  moment,  the  lawyer  half  opened  the  door, 
and  seeing  O'Leary  there,  stood  scowling  at  him. 

"  What  were  you  doing  down  on  the  second  floor  just 
now  ?  "  said  O'Leary  directly. 

"Second  floor?  You're  crazy!"  said  Drinkwater, 
surlily. 

"  You  were  down  there  five  minutes  ago." 

"  I  was  not,  and  I  don't  know  what  business  it  is  of 
yours  anyway,"  said  the  lawyer,  catching  his  breath. 

"  Drinkwater,  I  believe  you're  lying,"  said  O'Leary, 
with  a  twitching  of  his  hands  that  made  the  other  draw 
back  abruptly.  "If  you've  got  any  dirty  scheme  in  your 
head  —  keep  out  of  it,  do  you  understand?" 

"  Is  that  all  ?  "  said  the  Portuguese,  with  a  sneer. 

O'Leary  turned  without  answer  and  went  down  the 
hall. 

"  Dangerfield's  been  asking  after  you,"  said  Flick. 
"Well,  what?" 

King  O'Leary  made  a  sign  to  signify  that  he  would 
give  his  news  later,  and  went  to  the  next  room. 

Dangerfield  jumped  up  at  his  entrance  and  came  for 
ward  in  a  positive  frenzy,  crying: 

"  Well,  what  did  you  see  —  who  was  there?  " 

Behind  him  the  straight,  slender  figure  of  Inga  was 
standing.  She  shook  her  head  hastily  and  placed  her  fin 
ger  across  her  lips  in  warning. 

"  Why,  no  one  at  all,"  said  O'Leary  heartily. 

"  No  one?  "  said  Dangerfield,  and  he  came  up  close  to 
him  and  looked  into  his  face  like  a  puzzled  child.  "  You 
say,  no  one?  " 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  139 

"  I  told  you  that  there  was  no  reason  to  be  excited," 
said  Inga,  in  a  strangely  calming  voice. 

"  How  do  you  know  there  was  no  one?  "  he  said,  dis 
satisfied.  "  Did  you  see  who  was  outside?  Did  you  go 
to  the  car, —  all  the  way  ?  " 

''Yes,  indeed;  and  the  bigger  fool  I,"  said  O'Leary, 
who  comprehended  that  the  man  was  in  no  condition  to 
hear  what  he  had  seen. 

"But  some  one  was  there  —  in  the  car  —  waiting?" 
said  Dangerfield,  insisting.  "  A  square-set  man,  about 
my  height,  cropped  mustache  —  you  saw  him  — 
you " 

Inga  had  advanced  to  his  side;  now  she  laid  her  hand 
on  his  arm  and  said  with  a  smile : 

"  Why,  Mr.  Dangerfield,  didn't  you  hear  what  he  said  ? 
There  was  no  one  there?  " 

"  No  one  ?  "  said  Dangerfield,  frowning  and  looking 
back  at  O'Leary  with  a  perplexed  stare. 

"  No  one  at  all,  and  no  one  waiting,"  said  O'Leary 
glibly. 

"  Then  why  didn't  you  want  me  to  go  down?  "  he  said 
abruptly,  turning  on  her. 

"  You  would  only  have  gone  on  arguing,"  she  said. 

His  back  was  turned  a  moment,  as  he  ran  his  hand 
over  his  head  and  walked  away.  Inga's  eyes  went 
quickly  to  King  O'Leary.  He  nodded  and  held  up  three 
fingers. 

Dangerfield  had  sat  down  at  the  spacious  Florentine 
table  and  taken  up  two  packs  of  cards.  Inga  glanced  at 
him,  and  going  over  to  the  sideboard,  lit  two  candles  and 
placed  them  on  either  side  of  him.  He  looked  up,  smiled, 
and  patted  her  hand,  quite  unconscious  of  O'Leary's  pres 
ence.  Then  he  seemed  to  forget  them  both  in  the  ab 
sorption  of  the  solitaire,  laying  out  the  cards  with  minute 
pains,  as  though  this  assembled  order  rested  his  fluttering 


140  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

mind.  She  made  a  sign  to  King  O'Leary  and  went  to 
the  door.  Instantly  Dangerfield  looked  upA 

"  Where  are  you  going?  "  he  said  querulously. 

She  smiled. 

"It's  all  right;  I'm  coming  back." 

Outside,  O'Leary  told  her  the  results  of  the  investiga 
tion,  saying: 

"  Hadn't  he  ought  to  know?  " 

She  considered  thoughtfully. 

"  Do  you  think  they  were  there  on  purpose?  " 

"  Don't  know  —  hard  to  tell,"  he  said,  frowning.  "  It 
was  her  actions  that  made  me  suspicious.  Well,  oughtn't 
we  to  put  him  wise  ?  " 

"I'll  tell  him,"  she  said,  nodding;  "at  least,  I'll  men 
tion  it  so  he'll  be  on  his  guard.  Do  you  think  —  that  is, 
if  there  is  anything  wrong  —  that  there  will  be  any  dan 
ger  to-night?  " 

"  Can't  tell,"  he  said  thoughtfully.  "  Do  you  want  me 
to  stay  with  him?  " 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  If  anything  happens,  I'll  come  for  you.  It's  all 
right;  I  know  how  to  handle  him." 

"Say?" 

"What?" 

He  looked  down  at  her  a  moment,  while,  a  little  puz 
zled,  she  stood  facing  him,  wondering. 

"You've  made  up  your  mind,  haven't  you?"  he  said 
abruptly. 

She  understood  at  once,  but  she  waited  some  time  be 
fore  answering,  as  though  the  question  were  still  unde 
cided  in  her  own  mind. 

"  He  needs  me,"  she  said,  at  length,  looking  up  into 
his  eager  eyes.  Then  she  went  back  to  the  studio  for  the 
long  night's  vigil. 


XIV 

ONE  .unlooked-for  result  of  the  evening's  happenings 
was  that  O'Leary's  antagonism  to  Dangerfield  seemed 
completely  to  disappear.  Indeed,  he  seemed  now  to  share 
Inga's  devotion  —  probably  for  no  other  reason  than  that 
Dangerfield,  in  a  moment  of  perplexity,  had  called  him  to 
his  assistance. 

The  effect  on  Dangerfield  was  marked.  He  sobered 
up  all  at  once,  as  though  concentrated  on  some  fixed  pur 
pose.  Yet  the  restless  note  remained  —  if  anything,  it 
was  aggravated.  There  was  always  about  him,  even  in 
the  midst  of  conversation,  the  effect  of  listening  for  some 
distant  warning  sound.  Another  thing  they  noticed  was 
that  he  did  not  leave  the  arcade  or  indeed  the  sixth  floor, 
having  his  meals  sent  in  by  Sassafras.  When  O'Leary 
went  down  to  see  him  the  second  night,  he  had  to  name 
himself  in  a  loud  voice  before  the  door  was  opened  cau 
tiously,  while  once  inside,  he  found  quite  a  system  of  bars 
and  bolts  had  been  installed ;  and  by  this  he  divined  that 
Inga  had  found  a  means  to  warn  him. 

The  change  in  Dangerfield  brought  a  more  pliable 
mood,  of  which  the  girl  availed  herself  to  amuse  his  mind 
with  the  final  arrangement  of  the  studio.  Curiously 
enough,  though  it  was  characteristic  of  his  disconnected 
actions,  he  made  but  one  reference,  and  that  an  indirect 
one,  to  the  abrupt  interruption  of  the  woman,  whoever 
she  might  have  been  in  his  other  life.  It  was  the  second 
afternoon,  and  they  were  engaged  in  hanging  pictures  and 
placing  the  bric-a-brac.  For  long  periods  he  was  keen 
and  interested,  deeply  enjoying  her  enthusiasm ;  then,  all 


142  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

at  once,  there  came  a  spell  of  moody  aloofness  in  which 
he  forgot  her,  roving  about  the  room  with  a  nervous, 
jerky  snapping  of  his  fingers,  talking  to  himself.  Once 
he  stopped  with  his  ear  trained  to  some  outer  noise  and 
went  abruptly  to  the  door  for  a  suspicious  survey.  That 
ended,  he  closed  it  carefully  and  drew  each  bolt,  trying 
the  strength  of  the  door. 

"  A  couple  of  bars,"  he  said,  as  though  dissatisfied ; 
"  that's  what  it  needs." 

He  came  back,  and,  seemingly  struck  with  her  pres 
ence,  went  up  to  her  and  laid  one  of  his  big  hands  on  her 
shoulder. 

"  You  think  this  all  very  queer,  don't  you  ?  " 

"  It  is  no  business  of  mine,"  she  said. 

"  How  do  I  know  you're  not  in  their  game  —  you, 
too?"  he  said  abruptly,  and  a  startled  leap  of  suspicion 
came  into  his  yellow-green  eyes  that  made  them  almost 
uncanny.  "  By  George,  that  would  be  clever !  " 

"Don't  get  excited,  Mr.  Dangerfield,"  she  said;  and 
whether  consciously  or  unconsciously,  her  voice  took  on 
that  dreamy,  quiet  tone  —  like  the  bubbling  of  waters 
along  hidden  brooks  —  that  seemed  to  exercise  a  peculiar 
quieting  effect  upon  him. 

"  No,  no ;  that's  crazy,"  he  said.  Then  he  frowned 
suddenly.  "  Well,  it  will  all  come  out  soon  —  the  truth 
—  as  much  as  people  ever  get  of  the  truth." 

"  Where  do  you  want  to  hang  this?  " 

He  stopped  and  came  back,  studying  a  long  time  the 
canvas  she  held  up,  a  study  of  sunlight  through  the  foliage 
that  flung  spattered  shadows  across  a  group  of  urchins. 

"  Like  that?  "  he  said  suddenly. 

"  I  like  it  the  best." 

"You  do?" 

She  smiled  and  nodded. 

"  I  thought  that  a  great  picture  when  I  painted  it  — 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  143 

where  was  it?  Yes,  at  fitretat,"  he  said  moodily. 
"  Wonder  how  good  it  really  is  ?  So  you  like  it  best,  do 
you?  " 

"  It's  so  sure  and  daring;  and  there's  something  that 
draws  you  into  it." 

"  Why,  that's  good  criticism,"  he  said,  pleased.  "  Yes, 
that's  youth  —  when  you  don't  know  how  difficult  the 
thing  is.  That's  why  sometimes  you  succeed  in  doing 
it —  Well,  we'll  give  it  the  place  of  honor.  Wish  the 
sun  shone  like  that  nowadays." 

"  You  haven't  taken  off  the  signature,"  she  said,  point 
ing  to  the  lower  corner.  "  Do  you  want  to  ?  " 

"That's  queer!  Thought  I'd  cleaned  them  all  up," 
he  said,  without  appearing  to  notice  the  knowledge  her 
remark  implied. 

He  took  a  palette-knife  and  carefully  shaved  away  the 
telltale  strokes. 

When  they  had  hung  the  picture,  he  seemed  to  come 
out  of  his  mental  eclipse  as  though  reinvigorated,  and 
turned  to  her  quite  normally. 

"Why,  you  must  be  tired!"  he  said,  with  a  sudden 
contrition.  "  What  a  brute  I  am !  Kept  you  up  all 
night,  too." 

She  shook  her  head  and  smiled. 

"  I  like  this  —  I  like  changing  something  bare  and 
empty  into  something  beautiful  and  fine." 

"  Now,  just  what  do  you  mean  by  that?  "  he  said,  with 
an  odd  smile ;  but,  seeing  by  her  expression  that  she  had 
meant  nothing  more  than  the  words  implied,  he  laughed 
to  himself  and  added  thoughtfully,  with  some  personal 
show  of  interest,  as  he  looked  into  her  quiet  eyes : 

"Queer  —  that  you  should  happen  to  be  just  over 
there!" 

"Fate,  isn't  it?"  she  said;  and,  for  once,  their  roles 
were  reversed  —  the  man  studying  her  as  she  went  into 


I44  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

a  revery,  her  lips  a  little  drawn,  looking  far  down  the 
long-storied  lanes  of  the  tapestry. 

"  That's  what  it  all  is,"  he  said,  watching  her  with 
more  curiosity  than  he  had  shown  — "  whether  you  turn 
to  the  left  or  the  right  at  a  certain  moment.  '  Life  is  a 
jest,  and  all  things  show  it.'  Why,  Inga,  if  a  gust  of 
wind  hadn't  blown  my  hat  off  at  the  right — "  he  cor 
rected  himself — "  no,  the  wrong  moment,  would  I  be 
here?  A  gust  of  wind  —  and  that's  the  cause,  the  real 
cause  of  it  all.  How  ridiculous !  " 

Then  all  at  once,  after  they  had  completed  their  task 
and  the  studio  stood  about  them  clothed  in  dark  greens 
and  mellow  golden  rugs,  with  rich  notes  of  carved  furni 
ture  and  glowing  copper  in  subduing  shadows,  and  great 
Spanish  jars  in  streaked  gray  and  green  in  massive  rest- 
fulness,  he  became  quite  furious,  as  though  suddenly 
realizing  what  her  patience  had  accomplished. 

"  You  made  me  do  it,  and  I  didn't  want  to !  You  made 
me ! "  he  said,  crossing  his  arms  and  looking  so  moodily 
ferocious  that  she  began  to  smile.  He  continued  to  scowl 
at  her  without  answering  her  mood.  "  Lots  of  good  it 
will  do,"  he  said  curtly,  with  a  dark  look. 

"  It  kills  time,"  she  said  quietly. 

"  Well,  yes ;  anything  for  that.  Thank  God  for  any 
thing  that  will  do  that,"  he  admitted.  "  But  as  for  any 
thing  else — "  and  he  began  to  laugh  in  a  low  tone  to 
himself  at  something  that  had  struck  his  imagination. 
"  All  right,  then,  suppose  we  have  tea  here." 

"  That  would  be  nice." 

"  Ask  the  others  in,"  he  said  restlessly. 

She  looked  up,  genuinely  surprised,  wondering  if  she 
had  understood  him. 

"  The  men  next  door?  " 

"The  girls,  too  —  all  of  them.  Fix  the  tea  —  wait 
—  I'll  ask  them  in  myself." 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  145 

Accustomed  as  she  was  to  his  change  of  moods,  this 
inconsistency  amazed  her.  However,  she  said  nothing, 
and  busied  herself  at  the  tea-table.  At  the  door  he 
stopped  and  came  back. 

"  You  don't  mind,  do  you?  "  he  said  tentatively. 

"I?     Mind  what?" 

"  The  others  coming  in  —  perhaps  you'd  rather  not. 
I  thought  when  I  spoke,  you  looked  as  though  — " 

"  No ;  on  the  contrary,  I  think  that's  what  you  ought 
to  do.  It  will  amuse  you." 

"  Yes,  yes;  that's  what  I  want." 

He  nodded,  and  went  to  the  next  studio,  where  he 
knocked. 

"Who  the  devil  is  that?"  cried  the  angry  voice  of 
King  O'Leary. 

"  It's  I,  Dangerfield." 

Instantly  the  room  was  filled  with  laughter,  and  the 
door  was  presently  opened  by  Tootles,  hair  rumpled, 
paint-brush  in  his  teeth,  palette  in  hand,  sunk  in  enormous 
overalls  streaked  and  speckled  with  every  conceivable 
combination  of  colors. 

"  Come  in  or  shut  the  door,"  cried  O'Leary,  from 
across  the  screen.  "  This  costume  was  never  meant  for 
January  in  New  York." 

"What  is  it?"  said  Dangerfield  in  surprise. 

"  I  am  engaged  on  a  monumental  masterpiece,"  said 
Tootles  proudly.  "  Step  in,  brother  artist,  and  give  me 
your  expert  advice." 


XV 

AGAINST  the  heroic  proportions  of  the  back  drop, 
which  represented  a  peculiarly  violent  sunset  over  the 
canons  of  Colorado,  was  a  group  in  such  incongruous 
attire  that  Dangerfield,  accustomed  as  he  was  to  the 
eccentricities  of  the  studio,  halted  in  astonishment.  King 
O'Leary,  crowned  with  a  battered  helmet  and  draped  in 
a  white  sheet  to  represent  a  toga,  was  in  an  attitude  of 
deferential  amazement  before  Flick,  who  occupied  the 
center  of  the  tableau  in  Tootles'  dress  suit,  which  shrunk 
below  the  elbows  and  positively  refused  to  descend  to  the 
ankles.  To  the  left,  Sassafras,  stripped  to  the  waist, 
with  the  doctored  pelt  of  the  Harlem  bear  flung  over  one 
shoulder,  and  a  wig  of  pendent  black  horsehair,  was  on 
one  knee,  rolling  his  eyes  upward  in  ecstatic  tribute. 
Behind  appeared  Mr.  Cornelius  in  the  most  Elizabethan 
of  frilled  coats  and  the  most  Victorian  of  trousers,  while 
Pansy,  in  powdered  wig  and  black-silk  knee-breeches,  was 
the  most  charming  of  beaux. 

"  Do  you  seize  the  idea  ?  "  said  Tootles  proudly,  his 
head  on  one  side  in  paternal  affection  for  the  group  which 
had  sprung  Minerva-wise  from  his  brain. 

Dangerfield  resorted  hastily  to  his  pocket-handkerchief 
and  surreptitiously  flicked  away  a  tear  of  agony,  which 
all  his  self-control  could  not  keep  down. 

"  It's  only  a  preliminary  sketch,"  said  Tootles  hastily, 
"  for  my  monumental  decoration, '  The  Ages  Contemplat 
ing  the  Apotheosis  of  the  Well-dressed  Man.'  ' 

"  There's  millions  in  it,"  said  Flick,  who  forgot  himself 
to  the  extent  of  raising  one  arm,  with  the  result  that  a 
ripping  sound  was  heard. 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  147 

"  Holy  cats !  Drop  that  arm !  "  exclaimed  Tootles,  who 
rushed  to  the  rescue  of  the  pride  of  the  wardrobe. 

During  this  diversion,  Dangerfield  was  able  to  recover 
himself  sufficiently  to  present  a  grave  mask. 

"  What  does  Sassafras  represent?  "  he  asked,  stroking 
his  chin. 

"  Sassafras  is  primitive  man,"  said  Tootles,  assuming 
the  attitude  of  a  lecturer.  "  O'Leary  represents  Rome  — 
Caesar  or  some  other  classic  chap,  you  know.  The  baron 
is  the  Spirit  of  the  Middle  Ages,  and  Pansy  is  the  cele 
brated  Beau  Brummel.  It's  symbolic,  of  course." 

"And  Wilder  is  the  Apotheosis  of  the  Well-dressed 
Man?"  said  Dangerfield  gravely,  contemplating  the  thin 
limbs,  which  seemed  to  have  sprouted  from  the  legs  and 
arms  of  Wimpfheimer  &  Goldfinch's  glorified  dress  suit. 

"No,  no,"  said  Tootles  hastily;  "Flick  is  only  a 
clothes-horse  for  the  time  being." 

Flick  objected  strongly  to  this  characterization,  and 
while  his  feelings  were  being  soothed,  Dangerfield  turned 
the  easel  and  inspected  the  canvas. 

"  I'm  afraid  I'm  in  a  terrible  mix,"  said  Tootles, 
scratching  his  head  and  looking  in  despair  at  the  canvas, 
which  had  certain  marked  resemblances  to  the  first  days 
of  Creation,  when  the  earth  and  the  waters  were  still 
mingled. 

"  How  are  you  going  at  it  ?  "  said  Dangerfield,  peering 
into  the  confusion  of  colors. 

"  Diving  in,  head  foremost,  I  guess,"  said  Tootles, 
rather  discouraged. 

"  Have  you  made  any  sketches,  charcoal  sketches?  " 

"  Oh,  yes ;  dozens." 

He  returned  with  heaped-up  arms. 

Dangerfield  sorted  them  rapidly,  humming  to  himself. 
Bits  of  drawing  caught  his  attention,  a  free,  felicitous  line 
here  and  there  evoking  an  approving  grunt. 


148  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

"  Not  so  bad  —  this  is  more  like  it  — too  worked  over 
—  this  means  something  —  good !  But  you  must  get 
your  composition  first,  my  boy." 

"I  know  that,"  said  Tootles  ruefully;  "but  then,  I'm 
new  to  decoration,  you  see." 

"Harder  than  you  thought,  eh?" 

Tootles  nodded  darkly. 

"  Here,  give  me  a  canvas,"  said  Dangerfield,  selecting 
a  charcoal;  and  then,  unable  to  hold  in  any  longer,  he 
burst  into  a  shout  and  began  to  rock  back  and  forth,  con 
vulsed  with  laughter.  This  cleared  the  atmosphere  and 
brought  them  all  down  from  the  rarified  heights  to  a 
working  basis. 

When  Inga,  anxious  at  his  continued  absence,  came  in 
a  moment  later,  she  found  Dangerfield  chuckling  to  him 
self,  oblivious  to  everything  but  the  joy  of  the  moment, 
rearranging  the  group,  as  excited  as  though  he  were 
launched  on  a  masterpiece. 

"  The  first  point  is  the  Well-dressed  Man,"  he  began, 
with  splendid  gravity.  "  We  must  place  him  in  a  way 
to  dominate  everything  else  —  a  pedestal,  or  better  still, 
a  throne  —  no,  no ;  he  mustn't  be  sitting." 

"  The  cut  of  the  trousers  is  most  important,"  said  Flick, 
who  had  already  formed  ambitious  plans  for  the  mar 
keting. 

"  Right  —  you  must  stand  on  an  elevation,  a  flight  of 
steps,  perhaps.  A  box  on  the  model-stand  will  do  for 
the  moment.  Now  we  center  it  in  a  triangle,  Sassafras 
at  the  left,  reclining,  one  leg  out,  back  to  us  —  hold  that, 
good  line  —  other  side,  what  ?  —  the  Sphinx  —  Adam 
and  the  Sphinx  —  not  a  bad  idea !  " 

"  Do  you  want  me  full-face  or  side  view?  "  said  Flick, 
while  Sassafras  took  his  pose  and  King  O'Leary  was 
draped  in  a  semi-recumbent  position  to  fill  the  lower  right 
half. 


"  There !  "     He  gave  them  a  signal,  and  stood  off  grinning 

about  the  compo 


head  on  one  side,  contemplatively,  as  they  crowded 
Page  149. 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  149 

"  Thought  of  taking  him  three-quarters,  with  hat  and 
gloves  resting  on  his  cane  in  front  —  see,  like  this !  "  said 
Tootles  meekly. 

"  Full-front  is  better  for  commercial  purposes,"  said 
Flick. 

"How  so?" 

"  When  they  use  it  for  magazine  and  newspaper  ads., 
they  can  print l  $47.50  '  over  the  shirt-front.  That  would 
be  very  effective." 

"Vandal!"  said  Tootles  indignantly.  "This  is  in 
tended  for  mural  decoration  only  —  like  something  dig 
nified  and  inspiring  —  over  a  bar." 

"  Still,  if  the  dress  suit  is  to  be  held  up  as  the  ultimate 
expression  of  grace,"  said  Dangerfield,  looking  over  at 
Inga,  "  it 'ought  to  be  full-front." 

"  Absolutely,"  said  King  O'Leary,  convinced. 

"  But  I  want  to  get  the  high  hat  in,  somehow,"  said 
Tootles  doubtfully.  "  Beside,  it  gives  us  two  chances 
to  sell  it.  I  can  be  practical  also." 

"  Wait."  Dangerfield  ran  over  the  canvas  and  began 
hurriedly  to  draw  in  the  three  figures  as  determined  upon. 
Then  he  burst  into  renewed  peals  of  laughter,  waving 
them  back  as  they  pressed  forward  curiously  to  watch 
his  progress. 

"  There !  "  He  gave  them  a  signal,  and  stood  off  grin 
ning,  his  head  on  one  side,  contemplatively,  as  they 
crowded  about  the  composition. 

Above  the  idealized  figure  of  the  Well-dressed  Man, 
flanked  in  servile  admiration  by  the  Sphinx  and  Primitive 
Man,  an  Angel  of  Victory,  floating  down,  after  the  un 
comfortable  manner  of  angels  of  Victory,  was  tri 
umphantly  blowing  on  a  trumpet  sustained  by  one  hand, 
while  with  the  other  she  prepared  to  crown  the  Modern 
Man,  not  with  a  wreath  but  with  an  immaculate  silk  hat, 
which  was  held  just  over  his  brow.  The  face  of  the 


150  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

Well-dressed  Man  likewise  expressed  the  serene  flush  thai 
heroes  must  show  at  such  monumental  moments. 

"  Cracky !  "  said  O'Leary,  gazing  in  awe. 

"  Wimpfheimer  will  weep  for  joy,"  said  Flick,  de 
lighted. 

Tootles  gazed  at  Dangerfield  as  the  pickets  of  the  Grand 
Army  used  to  come  to  startled  salute  at  the  sudden  ap 
parition  of  the  Little  Corporal. 

"  You  must  sign  it,  too,"  he  said,  in  a  burst  of  fairness. 

lt  It'll  be  a  riot,"  said  Flick,  seeing  visions  of  a  golden 
shower.  "  We'll  work  it  up  until  we  have  the  whole 
clothes-aristocracy  fighting  each  other  for  it." 

"  That's  a  beginning,"  said  Dangerfield,  who  enjoyed 
the  satire  more  than  he  dared  show.  "  Beau  Brummel 
can  be  about  left  center,  examining  him  through  a  lor- 
gnon,  or  better,  indicating  him  to  a  belle  in  a  powdered 
wig." 

"You  do  think  there  ought  to  be  woman-interest?" 
said  Tootles. 

"  Sure !  Appeal  to  the  women  —  get  the  women's 
periodicals,"  said  Flick. 

"  I  think  so,"  said  Dangerfield,  setting  his  lips. 
"  Gives  us  a  better  chance  at  color.  But  start  on  this ; 
that  will  come  later." 

When  he  had  returned  to  the  studio,  he  took  out  his 
handkerchief  and  wiped  his  eyes,  which  were  wet  with 
repressed  emotion.  Inga,  delighted  to  see  him  in  this 
mood,  stood  smiling. 

"  It's  the  most  wonderful  take-off,"  he  said,  at  last, 
when  he  could  get  breath.  "  You  don't  understand.  I 
have  made  it  a  caricature  of  a  superhuman  ass  I  know  — 
Tomlinson  —  who  thinks  he  can  decorate.  It'll  be  the 
death  of  him  when  it  comes  out." 

"  You  had  a  lot  of  fun  directing  them,"  she  said,  glad 
to  find  even  this  expedient  to  interest  him. 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  151 

The  boisterous  mood  left  him. 

"  Lucky  devils,"  he  said,  with  the  smile  still  lingering 
about  the  corners  of  his  mouth.  "  Wonder  if  they  know 
their  luck?"  An  expression  of  great  kindness  came  to 
soften  his  face,  as  he  stood  there  reflecting,  which  held 
her  eyes  and  brought  a  smile  of  tenderness  to  them  too. 
For  him,  the  darkling  walls,  the  strident,  contending  city 
no  longer  existed,  the  hard  barriers  of  the  present  rolling 
away  before  the  rise  of  remembered  scenes  —  glorious 
attics  and  tables  set  with  the  appetite  of  youth. 

"  Reminds  me  of  the  time  when  we  painted  socks  on 
Ouinny's  legs  so  that  he  could  go  out  and  call  on  a  count 
ess.  What  rackets  we  used  to  cut  up  then !  And  weren't 
we  sure  of  the  future!  Well,  that  was  something  — 
to  believe,  even  for  a  few  years.  The  young  are  all 
geniuses.  Why,  Inga,  I  used  to  walk  to  the  top  of  Mont- 
martre  just  to  look  down  over  Paris  and  say  to  myself, 
'  Some  day,  all  that,  glittering  below  there,  will  know  who 
I  am ! '  He  shook  his  head,  and  added  in  a  lower  voice : 
"  I  used  to  think,  in  those  days,  I  was  going  to  be  a  great 
man." 

"  You  are."  She  came  to  the  side  of  the  armchair 
into  which  he  had  sunk,  and  stood  with  her  hand  upon 
his  arm. 

"What?"  he  said,  startled  from  his  revery  by  the 
sound  of  her  voice. 

"  You  have  the  big  thing  in  you !  "  she  said  insistently. 
"  I  knew  it  from  the  first  moment." 

He  shook  his  head  again. 

"  No ;  there  are  some  who  think  I  had  —  but  I  know 
better,  I  know  —  I  know ! "  he  said,  with  a  rising  em 
phasis.  "  That's  the  terrible  time  in  the  life  of  an  artist, 
when  he  realizes  he  can  go  so  far  —  and  no  farther. 
That's  when  he  pays  for  all  the  triumphs  others  envy." 

"  I  won't  have  it  so,"  she  said,  with  such  a  note  of  fury 


152  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

in  her  voice  that  it  stopped  him,  and  he  looked  at  her 
eagerly,  as  though  longing  to  be  convinced.  She  was  on 
the  arm  of  his  chair,  leaning  toward  him,  serious  and  wil 
ful.  Their  glances  met,  and  then  gradually  the  serious 
ness  of  her  look  melted  into  a  smile  —  a  flash  of  white 
teeth  and  the  slender  oval  face  suffused  with  a  light  that 
seemed  to  envelop  and  warm  him.  He  forgot  what  he 
had  been  saying,  watching  her,  the  craving  for  beauty  in 
his  soul  fed  by  the  tenderness  and  the  youth  of  her  eyes. 
He  laid  his  hand  over  hers  and  stared  into  her  face  with 
that  wondering,  baffled  look  of  his.  Then  his  mind 
slipped  away  to  the  novelty  of  the  orderly,  harmonious 
room. 

"  You  have  made  a  spot  for  dreams  here,"  he  said,  at 
length. 

"  I  have  only  just  begun,"  she  said  confidently. 

"  Don't !  "  he  said,  in  a  low  voice,  understanding  her. 
"  It's  not  fair  to  you ;  it  cannot  be  done." 

She  smiled  again,  a  smile  that  seemed  to  draw  him  up 
into  her  arms  like  a  tired  child,  and  laid  her  hand  gently 
over  his  forehead. 

"  We  shall  see." 

"  Good  heavens !  Haven't  you  anything  better  to  do 
in  life,"  he  said,  all  at  once,  "  than  to  believe  in  dere 
licts?" 

She  did  not  answer  for  a  moment,  looking  beyond  him 
with  a  lost  glance  which  he  had  noticed  once  or  twice 
before.  Then  she  answered  slowly. 

"  But  that  —  that  makes  me  happy  —  to  give." 

"  Inga,  do  I  remind  you  of  any  one?  "  he  said,  with  a 
suddenness  that  startled  her. 

"  Why  do  you  say  that?  "  she  said,  drawing  away  and 
frowning. 

"  I  feel  it.  Just  now,  as  you  were  looking,  and  many 
times  when  we  were  arranging  the  room  I  had  the  feeling 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  153 

—  a  strange  feeling  —  almost  as  though  there  were  some 
one  else  here  with  us  —  that  all  this  —  well,  how  shall  I 
say  —  that  you  had  been  here  before " 

"  Why  do  you  say  that?"  she  said,  after  a  moment's 
hesitation.  "I  haven't  asked  any  questions,  have  I?" 

"You  can  —  and  besides,  you  won't  need  to,  soon," 
he  said,  his  curiosity  aroused  by  the  answer  her  evasion 
implied. 

"  No,  no,"  she  said  emphatically;  "  what  has  happened 
has  nothing  to  do  with  it.  We  are  what  we  are  to  each 
other.  All  the  rest  —  what's  happened  before  —  we 
want  to  be  free  of  that.  What  right  has  that  to  come 
into  your  life  again?  That's  what's  rare  in  a  friendship, 
to  begin  all  fresh  — isn't  it?" 

"  You  are  queer!  "  he  said,  gazing  at  her  profoundly, 
with  a  growing  personal  curiosity  awakened  by  the  in 
tensity  which  she  had  put  into  this  unusually  long  speech. 

"Why?" 

"  So  I  am  not  to  know  anything  about  you?  " 

She  faced  him  a  long  moment,  and,  despite  all  his 
curiosity,  he  could  not  divine  what  was  passing  behind 
her  eyes. 

"  Wonder  if  I  shall  ever  see  into  those  eyes?  "  he  said, 
wandering  from  his  question.  His  gaze  rested  a  moment 
on  the  sensitive  nostrils  and  the  delicate  mouth  with  its 
poised  upper  lip ;  and,  suddenly,  he  said,  as  though  notic 
ing  it  for  the  first  time : 

"  You  can  be  beautiful  when  you  want  to  —  why  don't 
you  ? "  Then  he  laughed  and  said  in  a  lighter  tone, 
"  Inga,  if  I  were  ten  years  younger,  I'd  be  madly  in  love 
with  those  eyes  of  yours." 

"Would  that  help?"  she  said,  her  eyes  filling  with  a 
sudden  compassionate  gentleness. 

This  frank  question  threw  him  into  a  turmoil.  He 
seemed  suddenly  recalled  to  himself  —  to  the  imminence 


154  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

of  some  crisis  dominating  his  freedom  of  decision.  He 
went  from  her  brusquely,  turning  about  the  studio  with 
restless,  nervous  step,  snapping  his  fingers  with  quick, 
irritated  gesture,  until,  as  she  waited,  he  came  as  sud 
denly  back  and  seized  her  in  his  big  hands. 

"  Inga,  whatever  you  do,  don't  get  to  caring  for  me 
—  do  you  hear?"  he  said  vehemently,  with  the  stricken 
intensity  of  his  disordered  moods.  Then  each  seemed 
struck  with  the  strangeness  and  the  significance  of  what 
they  had  been  saying.  He  repeated :  "  Do  you  hear  — 
do  you  understand  —  not  that !  " 

She  looked  at  him,  yet  across  her  eyes,  as  across  her 
soul,  the  same  misty  curtain  seemed  to  intervene.  Then 
she  shrugged  her  shoulders,  as  much  as  to  lay  the  decision 
on  the  lap  of  fate. 

"  It  will  only  bring  you  suffering,"  he  said  roughly, 
almost  angrily. 

"  Yes,  perhaps." 

She  nodded,  admitting  its  truth,  and  her  face  clouded 
before  a  vision  starting  out  of  the  shadows.  Her  arms 
drew  closer  about  her  body,  while  a  shiver  ran  through 
it  —  a  premonition  perhaps.  She  repeated : 

"  Yes,  perhaps." 


XVI 

TOOTLES  had  progressed  along  the  arduous  road  to 
masterpieces  to  the  extent  that  he  felt  a  need  of  realistic 
detail.  Flick,  of  course,  was  but  a  substitute,  the  center 
of  the  stage,  as  well  as  Wimpfheimer  &  Goldfinch's  per 
fection  dress  suit,  being  now  occupied  by  Belle  Shaler, 
who  gave  a  satisfactory  rendering  of  the  new  hothouse 
variety  of  young  man.  Sassafras  (when  he  could  put 
the  elevator  out  of  commission)  represented  Primitive 
Man  with  impressive  ferocity,  but  there  was  something 
lacking  in  the  Sphinx  of  King  O'Leary.  O'Leary  sug 
gested  many  things,  but  he  did  not  suggest  the  feminine 
mystery  of  that  historic  lady.  Tootles  felt  this,  and  felt 
it  acutely,  when  it  suddenly  occurred  to  him  that,  with  a 
little  diplomacy,  relief  might  be  at  hand.  Accordingly, 
one  day  at  high  noon,  he  went  tripping  down  the  stone 
stairway  to  the  floor  below  and  over  to  the  door  which 
was  inscribed: 

MME.  THEODORA  PROBASCO 
SPIRITUALISTIC  SEANCES 

He  rapped  gently  once,  and  then  once  more  firmly, 
with  an  uneasy  glance  at  the  darkened  glass,  that  seemed 
to  him  of  an  unearthly  obscurity. 

"  Who  knocks  at  this  door?  "  said  a  solemn  voice. 

"  The  one  above,"  said  Tootles,  in  an  equally  myste 
rious  whisper. 

The  door  was  opened  cautiously,  and  Madame  Pro- 
basco's  streaked  curls  appeared.  From  inside  came  the 
unmistakable  scent  of  a  pork  chop  frying. 


156  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

"  How  do  you  do  ?  "  said  Tootles,  affably,  with  a  radiat 
ing  smile.  "  And  how  are  all  the  little  spirits  ?  " 

"  Oh,  it's  you  ?  "  said  Madame  Probasco,  descending  to 
a  conversational  tone. 

"  Only  me ;  and  in  distress  —  oh,  nothing  for  the  spirits 
to  do,  but  I  need  a  sphinx.  Thought  you  might  have  one 
on  the  premises?  " 

"  A  sphinx  ?  I  have  a  sphinx/'  said  Madame  Pro 
basco,  ceremoniously. 

"  May  I  enter?" 

Madame  Probasco  was  still  hesitating,  considering  the 
advisability  of  introducing  such  a  visitor  behind  the 
scenes,  when  the  memory  of  the  pork  chop  decided  her. 
She  hurried  back,  followed  by  Tootles,  who  witnessed  the 
rescue  with  an  expression  of  sympathy,  while  seeking 
among  the  black-curtained  partitions  for  the  abode  of 
ghostly  aids. 

"  I  hope  we  have  done  nothing  to  disturb  the  spirits," 
he  said  genially,  at  the  first  opportunity. 

"  It's  not  you  —  it's  that  Dutch  yodler !  "  said  Madame 
Probasco,  taken  strategically  on  flank.  "  He  broke  up  a 
see-ance  only  last  night  and  sent  me  into  a  fit  of  hysterics. 
It's  an  outrage !  " 

"  Madame,  have  I  your  permission  to  speak  to  Mr. 
Schneibel?"  said  Tootles  majestically. 

"  'Deed  you'll  save  my  life  if  you  do,"  said  Madame 
Probasco,  with  a  fleshy  sigh.  "  What  was  it  you  wanted 
—  oh,  yes,  a  sphinx,"  she  added,  turning  toward  the  man 
telpiece,  where  underneath  gleaming  death-masks  and 
plastered  hands  was  a  collection  of  scarabs,  elephants,  and 
a  bronze  fragment  representing  the  sphinx  in  the  shadow 
of  the  Pyramid. 

"One  moment  —  don't  move!"  said  Tootles,  in  an 
excited  voice.  "  Hold  that  position  —  by  Jove,  that  is 
marvelous  now !  " 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  157 

"  Heavens!  what  is  the  matter?"  said  Madame  Pro- 
basco,  startled. 

"  Madame  Probasco,  have  you  ever  posed  —  has  any 
one  ever  done  your  portrait  ?  " 

"  There's  Mooney,  down  on  the  second  floor,  did  a 
colored  photo  that  wasn't  bad  — " 

"  No,  no ;  I  mean  did  you  ever  have  your  portrait 
painted?  By  jove,  just  that  moment  —  then  I  caught  an 
expression  —  I  say,  do  you  know  you  would  make  a  re 
markable  symbolic  study  of  the  Sphinx?  " 

"  Really  ?  "  said  Madame  Probasco,  smiling  and  fasten 
ing  the  brooch  at  her  neck,  which  had  become  undone, 
with  a  reawakening  of  coquetry. 

"  'Pon  my  word!  Tell  you  what  I'll  do:  If  you'll  sit 
for  the  Sphinx,  for  a  monumental  decoration  I'm  doing, 
I'll  make  a  special  sketch  and  present  it  to  you.  Think 
of  the  publicity !  " 

On  this  basis,  the  bargain  was  completed  immediately, 
and  King  O'Leary,  vastly  relieved,  was  promoted  to  the 
role  of  Paris,  who,  with  one  arm  about  Helen  of  Troy 
(Millie  Brewster)  a  glave  brandished  in  the  air,  was  rep 
resented  hesitating  in  his  passionate  flight  to  glance  back 
at  the  symbolic  vision  of  the  modern  ravisher  of  hearts 
in  the  person  of  the  Well-dressed  Man.  Madame  Pro 
basco  entered,  in  fact,  so  completely  into  the  spirit  of  the 
conception,  that  the  brooding  realism  of  her  frown 
brought  cold  shivers  to  the  impressionable  imaginations 
of  Pansy  Hartmann  and  Millie  Brewster.  The  work 
went  on  gaily,  as  all  great  works  of  inspiration  carry 
happiness. 

The  girls,  since  the  night  of  the  farewell  dinner,  had 
heaped  coals  of  fire  upon  the  heads  of  their  admirers  by 
an  unlooked-for  loyalty.  Myrtle  Popper  had  brought 
Mr.  Pomello  to  the  studio,  a  lonely  little  old  man  in  loose 
clothes,  who  conveyed  the  idea  of  a  shy  species  of  cockatoo 


158  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

behind  black-rimmed  spectacles,  and  who  accepted  the 
introduction  to  "  cousin  "  O'Leary  with  meek  obedience: 
It  was  evident  that  he  was  all  eyes  for  the  brimming  youth 
of  the  girl,  and  hurriedly  seconded  her  suggestion  that 
O'Leary  should  preside  over  the  orchestra  of  one  piano 
in  the  "  continuous  "  below,  from  eight  until  eleven  p.  M. 
Belle  Shaler,  in  her  turn,  succeeded  in  inviting  the  three 
friends  to  one  banquet  and  two  dances,  which  consider 
ably  improved  their  household  account;  while  Pansy,  as 
though  realizing  for  the  first  time  the  heights  to  which 
Tootles  might  ascend,  became  almost  docile,  and  if  she 
still  listened  to  the  assiduous  compliments  of  Drinkwater 
and  others,  at  least  she  concealed  the  evidence  with  skill. 
The  larder  was  not  exactly  overcrowded,  but  with 
O'Leary's  salary  and  three  mother-in-law  jokes  which 
Flick  obtained  in  translation  from  Mr.  Cornelius  and 
modernized  for  Puck,  the  wolf  was  kept  at  a  respectable 
distance,  while  Flick  planned  the  killing  on  Tootles'  mas 
terpiece  which  would  revolutionize  the  commercial  arts. 

Dangerfield  came  in  twice  again  for  a  flitting  visit  and 
a  few  words  of  advice,  but  the  first  enthusiasm  had  van 
ished,  or  rather,  he  seemed  obsessed  by  some  distant  pre 
occupation.  A  week  had  now  passed  since  the  episode  of 
the  interrupted  boxing-match,  and  the  heated  discussions 
as  to  who  Dangerfield  really  was  and  what  were  the  mys 
terious  complications  in  which  he  was  involved  had  been 
going  on  with  unabated  excitement,  when,  one  Sunday 
evening,  without  warning,  he  appeared  at  the  door  of  the 
studio  dressed  to  go  out 

"  O'Leary,  are  you  free  for  about  half  an  hour?  "  he 
said,  without  notice  of  the  fact  that  Tootles  and  Flick 
were  tidying  up  the  supper-dishes;  though  by  now  they 
had  grown  accustomed  to  his  abstractions. 

"  What  can  I  do  for  you?  " 

"  Can  you  come  with  me  —  now  ?  " 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  159 

"  Going  out  ? "  said  O'Leary,  surprised,  while  the 
others  looked  up,  for  this  in  itself  was  in  abrupt  contrast 
to  his  late  habit  of  never  setting  foot  outside  of  the 
Arcade. 

"  Yes." 

O'Leary  slipped  into  his  things  and  joined  him  in  the 
hall. 

"  Where  away?" 

"  I  prefer  not  to  go  out  of  the  Arcade  —  I  have  rea 
sons,"  said  Dangerfield,  his  voice  pitched  just  above  the 
normal.  "  We  will  go  down  a  couple  of  flights  and  out 
through  the  apartment-house." 

They  descended,  and  by  a  bridge  (one  of  the  many 
mysterious  byways  of  the  Arcade)  passed  into  an  apart 
ment-house  that  set  upon  the  side  street.  Down  this  they 
went  without  word  of  explanation,  O'Leary  more  and 
more  intrigued  by  the  behavior  of  his  companion,  who 
stopped  at  each  landing  to  read  the  cards  upon  the  door- 
plates,  talking  to  himself  the  while.  At  the  entrance 
below,  as  O'Leary  was  passing  curiously  out,  he  caught 
him  with  a  sudden  restraining  clutch  and  a  low  admoni 
tion.  Then  he  lit  a  match  and  studied  the  row  of  mail 
boxes  in  the  vestibule. 

"  No,  no ;  that's  all  right,"  he  said  at  last.  "  Old  cards, 
all  of  them.  No  changes  here."  He  blew  out  the  match 
and  looked  back  at  the  stairs  lost  in  the  dimness  of  the 
hall  light.  "  Uncanny,  isn't  it  ?  Anything  might  happen 
there.  All  right,  now.  Out,  and  turn  straight  toward 
Amsterdam  Avenue." 

"  As  you  say,"  said  O'Leary,  struck  by  the  restrained 
excitement  in  the  other's  voice  and  gesture. 

They  went  down  the  block  and  up  the  avenue  two 
streets,  then  eastward  to  Columbus  Avenue,  and  prepared 
to  descend.  Opposite  Healy's,  Dangerfield  stopped  and 
said  abruptly: 


160  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

"  Now,  O'Leary,  keep  your  eyes  open  and  if  you  see 
any  one  you  have  seen  before — "  He  stopped  short, 
and  his  eyes  set  suspiciously  on  the  other's  face. 

"  Any  one  I've  seen  before?  "  said  O'Leary,  frowning. 

"  Exactly  —  any  one  —  who  was  downstairs  the  night 
you  saw  the  car.  Oh,  it's  all  right;  you  didn't  deceive 
me  then  —  I  know.  That's  not  the  point.  I  must  know 
if  any  one's  around/' 

"  All  right ;  but  I  don't  understand  a  word,"  said 
O'Leary  helplessly.  "  Just  what  are  you  driving  at?  " 

But  for  all  answer  his  companion  smiled  knowingly, 
shrugged  his  shoulders  and  said : 

"You  understand?  Touch  my  arm  if  you  see  him. 
Come." 

They  crossed  Lincoln  Square  after  a  careful  recon- 
noitering  of  the  surrounding  spaces,  and  descending 
briskly  on  the  Arcade,  passed  along  the  Broadway  front 
and  around  the  corner  to  the  lower  street,  going  in  by  the 
side  entrance,  past  the  stuffy  halls  of  the  animal  fancier. 
The  inner  arcade,  deserted  in  the  barren  calm  of  Sunday 
night,  showed  only  the  lingering  figures  of  a  group  of 
newsboys  and  the  half-lights  of  the  telegraph  office. 

"All  right;  that's  enough,"  said  Dangerfield,  looking 
apparently  satisfied.  "  Mighty  decent  of  you.  Thanks." 

"  Don't  see  that  I've  done  anything  in  particular,"  said 
O'Leary,  following  him  into  the  elevator,  "  but  at  your 
service  any  time." 

Nevertheless,  mystified  as  he  was,  he  concealed  the  de 
tails  of  their  trip  under  an  evasive  answer  when  he  re 
turned  to  his  room.  However,  the  experience  remained 
fixed  in  his  mind,  and  he  divined  that  Inga,  by  now,  must 
have  told  Dangerfield  in  detail  of  his  discoveries.  The 
precautions  taken  to  bar  the  door,  the  voluntary  self-im 
prisonment,  the  brooding  suspicion  in  the  man  himself, 
had  spread  an  uncanny  feeling  of  suspense  in  the  upper 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  161 

hall,  where,  from  day  to  day,  each  awaited  some  dramatic 
explanation.  How  near  it  was  at  hand  no  one,  not  even 
King  O'Leary,  had  any  suspicion. 

On  the  following  night,  Madame  Probasco  gave  a  party 
"  to  meet  the  spooks,"  as  Tootles  expressed  it.  Just  how 
it  came  to  take  place,  or  who  may  have  put  the  sugges 
tion  into  her  mind,  was  never  clearly  defined.  The  fact 
of  Drinkwater's  participation  left  a  certain  suspicion  in 
the  minds  of  some,  especially  considering  what  happened 
later.  At  a  quarter  before  midnight,  being  the  witching- 
hour,  they  came  down,  expectant  and  a  little  awestruck, 
to  Madame  Probasco' s  rooms.  The  black-draped  pas 
sage,  which  had  an  aroma  of  heavy  incense,  was  faintly 
revealed  by  a  solitary  green  lamp,  which  cast  uncanny 
hues  over  their  faces  and  caused  Pansy  to  take  a  desper 
ate  clutch  of  Tootles'  hand. 

"  I  can  feel  them  spirits  already,"  said  Myrtle  Popper, 
with  a  nervous  laugh. 

"  Sh !  sh !  Silence ! "  said  Flick,  in  a  voice  which 
caused  Belle  Shaler  to  stumble  with  a  smothered  cry. 

Mr.  Cornelius,  Miss  Quirley,  and  Schneibel,  the  last  in 
the  charge  of  O'Leary,  who  had  given  his  word  to  restrain 
his  volubility,  pressed  forward  eagerly,  while  Millie  Brew- 
ster,  at  the  sight  of  the  coffinlike  passage,  the  green  light, 
and  the  black-draped  curtains,  billowing  as  though  with 
the  passage  of  unseen  shapes,  gave  a  scream  and  fled 
precipitately.  Inga  and  Dangerfield  were  likewise  ab 
sentees. 

At  the  door  of  the  salon,  a  surprise  awaited  them, 
Madame  Probasco  was  still  behind  the  scenes,  but  in  the 
center  of  the  misty  room  was  no  other  than  Drinkwater, 
gaunter  and  taller  than  ever,  in  the  midst  of  the  death- 
masks  and  plastered  hands  which  set  against  the  walls. 
A  great  white  collar  flashed  about  his  neck  against  the 
somber  hue  of  his  face  and  his  coal-black  eyes. 


162  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

"  Madame  Probasco  will  come  on  as  soon  as  every  one 
is  seated,"  he  said  suavely,  yet  with  a  queer  little  break 
of  excitement  in  his  voice.  "  She  particularly  wished  me 
to  caution  you  that  there  must  be  the  most  absolute  quiet. 
Any  sudden  noise  might  prove  almost  fatal  to  her  in  the 
intense  mental  concentration  into  which  she  must  go  for 
these  experiments." 

This  revelation  of  Drinkwater's  connection  with  the 
spiritualistic  parlors  came  as  a  disagreeable  introduction. 
Tootles  gazed  at  O'Leary,  rather  undecided,  with  a  vague 
sense  of  something  ominous  impending.  O'Leary,  for 
a  moment,  seemed  on  the  point  of  breaking  out  into  an 
objection,  but  before  he  could  take  a  decision,  from  the 
other  room  the  voice  of  Madame  Probasco  came  floating 
in,  in  querulous  complaint. 

"  Too  much  noise  —  hush !  " 

The  wavering  passed.  They  grouped  themselves  in  a 
circle  on  the  chairs  which  had  already  been  placed.  In 
the  center  of  the  room  a  great  armchair  was  waiting  be 
side  a  table  on  which  were  displayed  two  gray-and-white 
elephants  and  a  plaster  skull.  Drinkwater  passed  to  the 
door  by  which  they  had  entered  and  drew  it  shut,  and 
going  to  the  window,  flung  across  a  second  curtain.  In 
the  circle  the  bodies  seemed  to  recede  into  a  mist,  leaving 
only  the  white  faces  distinct,  faces  white  as  the  chalky 
death-masks  that  spotted  the  walls. 

"  Remember,  silence ;  absolute  silence,"  said  Drink- 
water,  with  his  finger  on  his  lips.  He  took  a  last  pre 
cautionary  glance  and  then  stepped  gingerly  and  softly 
to  the  door  of  the  inner  room,  knocked  three  times,  and 
announced, 

"  Everything  is  ready !  " 

Madame  Probasco  delayed  her  appearance  for  an  inter 
minable,  creepy  interval,  and  then,  when  they  were  least 
expecting  her,  came  floating  in,  clad  in  long,  fluttering 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  163 

garments  of  slatish  blue,  her  hair  bound  with  Greek  fillets, 
her  arms  and  neck  laden  with  shining  ornaments,  her 
eyes  half  closed,  hands  extended  in  groping  gestures. 
Drinkwater  went  to  her  side  and  piloted  her  to  the  arm 
chair,  amid  a  heavy  craning-forward  of  her  tense  audi 
ence.  She  gazed  fixedly  ahead  a  moment,  with  blank, 
glassy  eyes,  her  lips  parted  in  short,  troubled  breaths. 
Then  she  bent  her  head  suddenly  and  covered  her  eyes 
with  one  hand,  while  the  other  stretched  across  the  dark 
table  until  it  found  the  gray-and-white  elephant  that,  in 
the  dim  light,  seemed  to  have  come  into  a  grotesque  dis 
tortion  of  life.  At  the  end  of  a  full  ten  minutes,  during 
which  Drinkwater,  at  her  back  with  warning  finger,  cau 
tioned  all  to  immovability  and  silence,  her  hand  jerked 
up  rapidly  in  three  commanding  gestures,  and  she  began 
babbling  in  a  deep,  guttural  tone,  a  jargon  without  rele 
vance  or  resemblance  to  any  language  they  knew. 

Drinkwater,  as  though  he  had  waited  for  this  stage, 
moved  toward  the  expectant  circle,  hesitated  a  moment, 
and  selecting  Myrtle  Popper,  whispered: 

"  A  handkerchief  —  anything  —  of  your  own.  Yes ; 
a  glove  —  that  will  do.  You've  worn  it?  All  right." 

Madame  Probasco  immediately  transferred  the  glove 
to  her  forehead,  and  the  jargon  increased  in  rapidity.. 
Another  interval,  and  all  at  once  she  swayed  in  her  seat, 
and  began  to  talk  intelligibly. 

"  Rivers  —  trees  —  a  house  on  a  hill  - —  much  snow  — 
children,  many  children  in  sleighs  —  a  great  fireplace 
with  a  copper  kettle  boiling  —  a  holiday  —  a  holiday 
party  of  some  sort.  Who's  that  ?  A  man  —  two  men  — 
a  widower  and  a  young  man  — •  a  quarrel.  I  see  discord 
—  many  quarrels  —  a  journey  to  a  church  in  a  sleigh 
with  the  young  man — -no,  no;  something's  wrong  —  I 
don't  understand  —  it's  turned  back." 

Here  Myrtle  Popper's  voice  was  heard  exclaiming : 


1 64  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

"My  God,  it's  true!" 

The  medium  ran  on  more  confidently. 

"  Discord  —  more  quarrels  —  railroads  —  crowds,  peo 
ple  —  so  many  people  — " 

For  a  while,  what  she  said  continued  broken  and  mysti 
fying.  Suddenly  she  seemed  to  pick  up  the  thread  again. 

"  Some  one  close  to  you  will  die  within  the  year  —  a 
relative  —  no,  not  a  relative  —  perhaps  the  old 
man  — "  She  lapsed  into  the  mysterious  jargon  and 
again  came  out:  "  Changes,  marvelous  changes  —  wealth 
by  death,  beyond  your  dreams ;  and  yet  your  dream,  the 
real  dream,  will  not  be  realized  —  a  woman  —  two  other 
women  —  stand  between  you  and  that.  This  year  — 
everything  seems  to  come  in  this  year  —  all  the  changes 
in  your  life  —  great  fortune  and  great  disappointments 
—  journeys  —  new  conditions  —  everything  will  be 
changed.  That's  all  I  can  see  —  the  rest  is  blurred." 

With  which,  she  flung  the  glove  from  her  and  sank  her 
head  in  her  arms. 

Drinkwater  selected  Miss  Quirley  next,  and  after  her 
Schneibel.  Whether  Madame  Probasco  was  feigning  or 
not,  the  outstanding  fact  was  that  the  next  experiments 
varied  greatly  in  effectiveness.  With  some  she  began  to 
prophesy  immediately,  and  with  others  she  refused  to  go 
on  absolutely,  declaring  she  could  do  nothing.  The 
seance  had  been  going  on  thus  with  alternate  success  and 
failure,  when  Drinkwater  selected  Mr.  Cornelius.  Now, 
several  of  those  present,  reviewing  these  events  at  a  later 
date,  believed  that  it  had  all  been  a  carefully  laid  plan  of 
the  lawyer's  to  ferret  into  the  baron's  past  and  that  the 
scene  had  been  agreed  upon  with  Madame  Probasco. 
Yet  others  insisted  that  what  she  had  said  had  startled 
Drinkwater  almost  as  much  as  any  one,  and  that  indeed 
he  had  gone  white  and  leaned  against  the  wall.  How 
ever  that  may  be,  as  soon  as  Madame  Probasco  had  re- 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  165 

ceived  into  her  hands  a  watch-chain  which  Mr.  Cornelius 
had  given  with  the  greatest  reluctance,  she  cried,  in  ex 
cellent  French,  in  a  voice  shrill  and  quite  different  from 
her  own, 

"  Cinq  mille  louis  sur  la  bande! " 

The  effect  on  the  Frenchman  was  amazing.  He  half 
rose  from  his  seat  with  a  gasp  of  astonishment,  and  only 
the  firm  hold  of  his  companions  in  the  chain  of  hands  kept 
him  down.  The  next  moment,  Madame  Probasco  was 
running  on  in  her  usual  guttural  voice: 

"  I  see  a  great  house  —  oh,  but  a  great,  great  house  — 
tapestries  —  a  great  marble  fireplace  —  and  a  woman  — 
not  there  —  no  —  not  there  —  somewhere  else  —  can't 
quite  make  out  —  only  she  is  tall  and  her  hair  is  like  a 
flame  —  and  there  are  lights,  lots  of  lights  all  around 
her,  at  her  feet,  in  the  air  —  people  are  applauding  her  — 
flowers  —  I  smell  the  scent  of  roses,  always  roses  —  yel 
low,  pink.  Why,  I  can't  see  her  distinctly  any  more  — 
what  has  happened  ?  Why,  she  is  not  young  —  she  is 
not  beautiful  at  all  —  there's  no  one  around  her,  and  the 
room  is  dark  —  she  leans  on  a  cane."  All  at  once  her 
hands  began  to  clutch  nervously  in  the  air,  and  she  cried 
in  more  excited  voice:  "  What's  this?  Blows  are  struck 
—  high  words  —  some  one  is  choking  him  —  some  one 
has  him  by  the  throat,  forcing  him  over  a  table,  a  green 
table  —  and  now  all  the  lights  are  back  —  oh,  so  many 
lights,  my  head  is  turned  with  the  lights  .  .  .  Le  numero 
quatre!"  she  cried  suddenly,  or  rather,  the  same  shrill 
nasal  voice  cried  from  her.  Then  she  began  to  tremble 
as  she  had  at  no  time  before.  "  No,  no,  I  can't  —  don't 
make  me  tell  what  I  see !  " 

"What  do  you  see?"  said  Drinkwater  suddenly,  in  a 
voice  that  made  them  start.  "  Tell  us  what  you  see." 

The  medium  moaned  and  wrung  her  hands  hysterically, 
her  breath  coming  in  quick  gasps. 


i66  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

"  No,  no,  I  can't;  I  can't  tell  that." 

"  Tell  it,  madame,  tell  it  —  I  command  you !  " 

It  was  the  baron,  who,  quite  beside  himself,  had  broken 
out  into  a  shrill  command. 

"#*  wishes  it!     He  does!" 

"  Yes,  yes." 

"  I  see  —  I  see  —  blood,"  said  Madame  Probasco, 
shuddering. 

Drinkwater  started  back  against  the  wall,  though  Mr. 
Cornelius  seemed,  if  anything,  relieved,  whatever  it  may 
have  been  he  was  afraid  to  hear,  for  he  said  rather  in 
differently  : 

"Now,  or  in  ze  future?" 

"  In  the  future ;  but  near,  very  near.  Not  your  blood 
—  no;  it's  not  on  you,  the  blood  —  and  yet,  why 
it's—" 

Whatever  she  might  have  said  was  destined  to  remain 
a  closed  secret,  for,  at  this  moment,  the  outer  door  was 
flung  open  with  a  crash  that  shook  the  room  and  Inga's 
voice  was  heard  calling: 

"O'Learyl  Wilder!  Quick  — quick!  They're  kid 
naping  him!  For  God's  sake,  help!" 

Instantly  the  room  broke  up  into  a  seething  mass. 
Madame  Probasco  was  screaming  and  rolling  on  the  floor, 
but  no  one  noticed  her.  Drinkwater  sprang  to  the  lights, 
but  O'Leary  was  too  quick  for  him,  and,  with  a  sudden 
clutch  at  his  shoulder,  sent  him  rolling  across  the  floor. 
The  door  was  locked,  and  Inga's  voice  still  screaming 
from  the  other  side,  as  O'Leary  flung  his  body  against  the 
frail  supports  and  went  crashing  into  the  hall.  Flick, 
Schneibel,  the  baron,  Tootles  came  piling  after  him  and 
up  the  stairs  on  the  heels  of  the  fleeing  girl.  In  the 
corner  studio,  Dangerfield  was  struggling  in  the  hands  of 
four  men,  who  had  him  wrapped  around  with  cords  and 
Kvere  trying  to  pass  him  out  of  the  window  over  the  roof. 


XVII 

AT  the  moment  when  the  rescuing  party  broke  tu- 
multuously  through  the  door,  the  kidnapers  had  so  far 
succeeded  in  their  attempt  that  the  helpless  body  of  Dan- 
gerfield  had  been  borne  to  the  window  for  the  route  over 
the  roofs.  Two  of  the  assailants  were  in  the  room ;  the 
rest  had  passed  outside.  The  sudden  interruption 
changed  everything.  The  two  within  the  room  turned 
hastily  to  make  front  to  the  unexpected  attack.  The  body 
of  Dangerfield,  thus  released,  fell  heavily  near  the  win 
dow-sill,  while  the  assailants  on  the  roof,  alarmed  at  the 
hue  and  cry,  hesitated  but  a  second  before  breaking  for 
safety.  Inside,  the  struggle  was  of  short  duration.  One 
man,  the  shorter  of  the  two,  succeeded  in  breaking 
through  the  crowd  and  escaping  down  the  halls ;  the  other, 
of  more  aggressive  stuff,  fought  furiously  against  the 
odds  until  a  grip  of  King  O'Leary's  flung  him  to  the 
ground,  where  he  lay  stunned  by  a  blow  on  the  head. 

"Tie  him  up!"  shouted  O'Leary  to  Flick.  "Never 
mind  his  head.  Watch  out  he  isn't  faking!  Here  — 
take  this !  "  He  flung  them  an  end  of  the  rope  trailing 
on  the  floor,  and  hurried  over  anxiously  to  where,  by  the 
sofa,  Dangerfield  was  lying,  surrounded  by  a  gaping 
crowd. 

"  Here,  air  —  give  the  man  air !  "  he  cried,  pushing 
them  back.  "  What  is  it,  Inga?  " 

"  Chloroform,"  she  said,  looking  up. 

"  Nothing  else  —  no  black-jacking?" 

"No;  I'm  sure." 

"  How  the  devil  did  they  get  him?  "  he  said,  kneeling 


168  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

and  running  his  fingers  over  Dangerfield's  head  to  assure 
himself  that  there  were  no  contusions. 

Inga  shook  her  head. 

"  Some  came  through  the  door,  and  some  over  the 
roofs,  I  think,"  she  said.  "  When  I  saw  them  struggling, 
I  didn't  wait/' 

The  room  was  in  a  fearful  state.  One  tapestry  had 
been  half  torn  from  the  walls;  a  picture-frame  lay 
smashed  across  the  floor ;  a  chair  had  been  shattered,  while 
the  great  Florentine  table  lay  on  its  side  with  candlesticks, 
books,  and  platters  showered  over  the  rugs. 

O'Leary  cleared  the  room  of  all  but  Flick,  Tootles,  and 
Belle  Shaler,  who  stayed  to  help  Inga. 

"  Suppose  we  ought  to  notify  the  police/'  he  said,  after 
Tootles  had  returned  with  the  information  that  the  party 
had  driven  away  in  an  ambulance  which  had  been  waiting 
below. 

"  Perhaps  —  though  I  am  not  sure,"  she  said  doubt 
fully,  gazing  at  Dangerfield,  who  had  not  come  out  of 
his  stupor. 

"  It's  a  plain  case  — " 

"  I  think  I'd  wait  a  while,  if  I  were  you/'  said  a  voice 
that  startled  them. 

They  peered  at  the  sound,  and  found  their  captive  look 
ing  at  them  maliciously,  a  hard  smile  over  the  strong  lines 
of  his  mouth  under  the  close-cropped  mustache. 

O'Leary  went  up  to  him  and  examined  carefully  the 
sturdy  figure,  neatly  dressed,  though,  in  the  struggle,  a 
rent  had  been  torn  in  the  coat  where  a  pocket  had  been 
wrenched. 

"  I  think  I'd  find  out  wnat  the  person  you  call '  Danger- 
field  '  has  to  say  about  that,"  he  said  coolly. 

Inga  joined  O'Leary,  and  together  they  stood,  unde 
cided,  gazing  down  at  the  man  who  lay  on  the  floor 
propped  up  against  a  great  armchair. 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  169 

"  Nice  business  for  a  man  like  you  to  be  in ! "  said 
O'Leary  scornfully.  "  Well,  you'll  get  time  enough  to 
think  it  over  —  up  the  river." 

"  Perhaps,"  he  said,  with  a  shrug.  "  Have  you  any 
objection  to  my  sitting  in  a  chair  while  you  make  up  your 
mind?" 

"  What'll  we  do?"  said  O'Leary,  turning  to  Inga  in 
perplexity. 

"  Wait,"  she  said,  after  a  moment. 

"  You  know  best,"  said  O'Leary,  and,  leaning  down, 
he  caught  the  man  by  the  shoulders  and  lifted  him  to  a 
chair.  A  splotch  of  blood  showed  on  his  head  just  back 
of  the  ear,  where  he  had  crashed  against  a  corner  of  the 
chest. 

"  You  might  as  well  tie  up  my  head,"  he  said  surlily, 
"  for  the  sake  of  the  carpet,  if  nothing  else." 

Inga  took  a  basin,  sponged  the  wound,  which  was  slight, 
and  placed  a  bandage.  The  man  watched  her  intently, 
and  at  the  end  said  gruffly : 

"  Thanks.  You  did  that  well  enough.  Suppose  I  have 
to  thank  you,  young  lady,  for  breaking  up  this  little 
party?" 

She  paid  no  attention  to  his  remarks,  and,  her  work 
being  finished,  went  back  to  Dangerfield,  saying  to 
O'Leary : 

"  Better  make  sure  he's  tied  fast." 

The  man  laughed  outright,  and,  suddenly  extending  his 
hands,  which  he  had  somehow  managed  to  slip  from  their 
fastenings,  said: 

"  Do  it  better  this  time." 

His  feet  being  bound  would  have  sufficed  to  hold  him ; 
nevertheless  O'Leary  took  several  hitches  so  vigorously 
that  the  prisoner  protested. 

At  this  moment  Dangerfield,  on  the  sofa,  groaned. 

"  He's  coming  out  of  it!  "  said  Inga. 


1 70  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

"  Well,  if  I've  got  to  wait,"  said  the  man  suddenly,  in 
a  sharp,  professional  manner,  "  might  as  well  tell  you 
what  to  do.  He's  had  a  good  dose  of  it,  that's  certain. 
Lay  him  flat  on  his  back  and  work  the  stuff  out  of  his 
lungs.  Raise  up  the  arms  and  press  down  on  the  dia 
phragm  regularly  and  slowly.  Open  up  the  skylight  and 
get  some  cold  air  in  here.  He'll  come  around  in  no 
time." 

"Oh,  a  doctor!"  said  O'Leary. 

"  Perhaps." 

Under  these  directions,  Dangerfield  began  to  gasp  and 
mutter,  and  finally,  as  they  waited,  opened  his  eyes  and 
glared  out  of  them  with  his  characteristic  stare  of  a 
frightened  animal.  Presently  he  rose  to  a  sitting  posi 
tion,  clutching  the  arm  of  Inga,  who  was  supporting  him, 
his  glance  set  directly  on  the  man  with  the  cropped 
mustache,  who  faced  him  with  a  confident,  indifferent 
smile. 

"  Who's  that?  "  he  cried,  almost  in  terror,  and  the  grip 
on  her  arm  sunk  painfully  into  her  flesh. 

"  It's  I,  Dan  —  Jim  Fortier,"  said  the  prisoner,  with 
a  sudden  rough  authority  in  his  voice,  as  though  he  were 
indeed  the  master  of  the  scene. 

Whether  the  fumes  of  the  chloroform  had  not  yet  left 
his  faculties  free,  or  whether  he  did  not  perceive  the  true 
position  of  Fortier,  to  their  amazement  Dangerfield 
seemed  suddenly  shaken  with  an  unreasoning  fear.  He 
cried  out :  "  Doctor  Jim !  Doctor  Jim !  "  and  covered  his 
face  with  his  hands. 

Inga  took  him  hurriedly  in  her  arms,  crying: 

"  Mr.  Dangerfield,  nothing's  happened  —  you're  here. 
It's  Inga  —  O'Leary's  here  —  we're  all  here !  " 

"  Inga,"  he  said  slowly,  and,  already  half  returned  to 
the  land  of  confused  dreams,  he  dropped  his  hands  and 
turned  his  face  toward  her  voice,  a  clouded,  perplexed 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  171 

look  in  his  eyes.  She  dropped  on  one  knee  and  met  his 
glance,  smiling. 

"  It's  all  right ;  nothing's  happened.  You're  in  your 
studio,  safe,"  she  said,  as  though  she  were  talking  to  a 
child. 

"  Safe  enough  for  the  time  being,"  said  Doctor  Fortier, 
breaking  in  in  quick,  staccato  tones. 

Dangerfield  shot  around,  gazed  in  the  direction  of  his 
enemy,  and  putting  out  his  hands  as  though  to  ward  him 
off,  collapsed. 

Every  one  was  impressed  by  the  effect  Doctor  Fortier's 
voice  had  produced. 

"Take  him  away,  quick  —  to  your  room;  keep  him 
there !  "  said  Inga,  hastily. 

"  Come  along,  you !  "  said  O'Leary,  with  a  sudden 
tightening  hold  on  the  other  man's  throat,  for  he  had  be 
gun  to  divine  his  maneuver.  "  And  no  tricks,  or  I  might 
get  to  squeezing.  Loosen  up  his  feet  —  that's  it !  Come 
on!" 

Tootles  was  stationed  in  the  hall  to  watch  the  passage 
over  the  roofs,  to  guard  against  the  possibility  of  a  return 
attack,  and  only  Belle  Shaler  remained,  at  Inga's  direc 
tion  seating  herself  in  a  further  corner  to  give  an  instant 
alarm. 

The  fumes  of  the  chloroform  seemed  to  have  closed 
over  Danger-field's  consciousness  once  more.  He  moved 
and  stretched  out  his  fingers,  seeking  the  glass  of  water 
she  held  to  them  to  ease  the  heat  of  his  throat.  The  cool 
draft  seemed  momentarily  to  bring  pleasant  intervals  in 
his  dream,  for  he  began  to  laugh  and  to  hum  to  himself, 
calling  out  names  unfamiliar  to  her  —  brother  artists, 
perhaps,  of  youthful  days  —  the  whole  intermixed  with 
snatches  of  French. 

"  Give  me  the  brush  —  Violet  socks  with  white  polka 
dots.  A  toi,  mon  coco!  En  charrette!  Quinny,  get  to 


172  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

work.  A  nous,  les  anciens!  What  a  float,  eh?  Where 
do  we  rendezvous?  Cafe  Procope?  Every  one  there  — 
Cafe  Procope,  eight  sharp !  Du  Bois  and  De  Monvel,  go 
first.  Parfaitement!  Gogo,  tu  es  epatant"  He  began 
to  rock  with  laughter.  "  Look  at  Gogo !  Isn't  he  a  won 
der!  Gargon,  des  bocks!  All  together,  now  — 

"C'est  les  quatz'  arts, 

C'est  les  quatz'  arts, 

C'est  les  quatz'  arts  qui  passent, 

C'est  les  quatz'  arts  passes." 

In  his  excitement  he  rose  to  a  sitting  position  and  began 
to  beat  time,  listening  to  the  volume  of  an  indistinguish 
able  orchestra  in  crowded  halls.  Then  the  air  seemed  to 
be  shaken  with  frantic  applause,  for  he  began  to  bow  to 
gay,  whirling  throngs,  and  all  at  once  called  out  trium 
phantly,  "  L' atelier  Julian  —  premier  prix!"  After 
which,  reason  seemed  to  flow  back  into  his  eyes,  and  he 
turned  to  her  and  said  quite  rationally: 

"  Water  —  more  water." 

"  Lie  down  —  rest  quietly,  Mr.  Dangerfield,"  she  said, 
serving  him.  "  It  will  pass  in  a  moment." 

His  eyes  dwelt  on  her  fixedly,  seeming  to  grow  larger 
and  deeper  as  the  consciousness  faded.  He  smiled  con 
tentedly. 

"  Always  you,"  he  said  quietly.  In  a  moment  he 
added :  "  I  know  everything  that  is  passing ;  I  hear  every 
thing."  But  already  he  was  back  in  the  delirium,  in  a 
jumble  of  painful,  rapid  reflections  of  the  past,  crying: 

"  Every  one  in  the  house  dines  with  me  to-night !  Val 
entin,  give  me  the  bank.  I  take  the  bank  for  a  thousand 
louis.  Who  plays?  Baccarat!"  And  again.  "Louise, 
Louise  Fortier!  Thank  you  —  yes,  it's  my  hat.  For- 
tier?  I  know  that  name  —  from  the  south.  That's 
my  route  —  if  you  will  allow  me.  .  .  .  Once  more ;  a 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  173 

bank  of  a  thousand  louis !  Gentlemen,  your  turn's  come. 
No,  no ;  win  or  lose  to  the  end !  Well,  a  clean  sweep.  I 
take  one  card  —  as  usual,  baccarat !  What  color  —  Italy 
—  see  Italy  and  die.  .  .  .  Bon  jour,  les  copins!  I  am 
back  again  —  cleaned  out !  "  He  stopped  suddenly  and 
lifted  his  hand  to  his  head,  saying  with  a  ceremonious 
bow  to  the  glittering  room  of  frantic  gamblers  which  rose 
in  his  vision :  "  Gentlemen,  I  thank  you.  You  have  re 
stored  me  to  my  art!  Cocker,  Rue  Bonaparte!"  Im 
mediately  a  frown  succeeded,  and  he  said  rapidly,  in  a 
hard  voice:  "No,  no,  and  no!  I  permit  you  to  love 
another  —  that  is  your  right.  I  do  not  admit  of  vulgar 
deception.  You  will  do  as  I  say.  You  will  do  it,  or 
I—" 

"  Mr.  Dangerfield,"  cried  Inga,  laying  her  hand  over 
his,  which  was  whipping  back  and  forth  in  uncontrolled 
excitement,  "  hush !  " 

There  was  a  slight  noise  in  the  back  of  the  room  and 
the  door  clicked.  Belle  Shaler,  fearing  to  overhear  too 
much,  had  slipped  away. 

"Click!"  said  Dangerfield,  snatching  his  hand  away 
from  the  clutch  of  her  fingers  and  shuddering.  "  Got 
me!  No,  no;  it's  not  true!  I  know  what  you're  trying 
to  make  me  believe!  But  it's  not  true  —  not  true!"  he 
shouted  vehemently.  Then,  as  the  echoes  seemed  to  re 
turn  to  him  on  the  silences  of  the  night,  he  repeated  in  a 
whisper,  "  not  true !  " 

"  Water,"  Inga  said. 

He  frowned,  took  the  glass  eagerly,  and  stared  at  her. 

"Who's  that?" 

"Inga." 

"  You're  sure?  "  His  hand  came  creeping  toward  her 
and  up  over  her  hair,  groping  for  her  features.  "  The 
eyes  —  the  eyes  —  strange  eyes !  Inga  —  Inga  Sonder- 
son  —  sounds  like  the  sea  rolling  in.  Only,  you  mustn't 


174  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

—  mustn't  get  to  caring  what  becomes  of  me  —  it's  no 
use." 

"  But  I  do  care,"  she  said,  in  her  deep  voice. 

The  mist  that  was  wavering  in  his  brain  seemed  to 
vanish  at  the  sound  of  her  words. 

"What's  happened?"  he  said  slowly,  frowning  as 
though  to  bring  back  all  his  faculties.  "  Where  am 
I?" 

"  You're  here,  in  your  studio,"  she  said  quickly,  "  quite 
safe." 

"  What's  the  matter  with  me,  then?  "  he  said  helplessly. 

11  They  tried  to  chloroform  you  —  but  that's  passing 
away  now." 

"  Tell  me  all." 

"  Do  you  think  I  had  better?  " 

"  Yes,  yes;  don't  let  me  go  back  to  sleep,"  he  said  des 
perately.  "  I  remember  something  over  my  head,  stifling 
me  —  the  room  full  of  people  —  darkness " 

"  That's  true ;  they  were  trying  to  get  you  out  of  the 
window  and  over  the  roof  when  we  broke  in." 

"They?  Who?  Doctor—"  He  hesitated,  watch 
ing  her  sharply. 

"Yes;  Doctor  Fortier." 

"  He's  here !  "  he  said,  sitting  up  and  staring  about  the 
room, 

"  Not  now;  there's  no  one  here." 

"Jim  Fortier!"  he  repeated  angrily.  "Then  it  was 
what  I  thought.  Who  saved  me  —  you?  " 

"  No,  no,  I  only  got  the  others  —  O'Leary  and  the 
rest." 

"  They  almost  had  me,"  he  said  slowly.  A  great  weak 
ness  seemed  to  overcome  him,  for  an  unusual  gentleness 
came  into  his  voice,  the  quiet  tone  of  weak  convalescence. 
"  You  can  tell  me  the  rest  —  I  can  stand  it.  What  hap 
pened?" 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  175 

"  Don't  you  think  you  had  better  be  quiet?  "  she  said 
.anxiously.  "  It  has  been  a  shock." 

"  Yes,"  he  said  with  a  shudder,  and  his  hand  clutched 
her  shoulder  as  though  clinging  desperately  to  it,  while 
in  the  subdued  torment  on  his  face  there  was  a  sudden 
flickering  passage  of  absolute  terror  that  caused  her  to 
cry: 

"  Mr.  Dangerfield,  Mr.  Dangerfield,  don't  look  that 
way!  I  can't  bear  it." 

Her  face  was  so  close  to  his,  flushed  with  compassion 
and  tenderness,  that  this  imminence  of  youth  and  affec 
tion  brought  back  into  his  eyes  a  touch  of  quiet  and  grati 
tude. 

"  Why  do  you  care  so  much?  "  he  said  greedily. 

"I  do ;  I  do,"  she  said,  gazing  at  him  earnestly. 
"  When  you  suffer,  it  just  tears  my  heart." 

He  closed  his  eyes  and  smiled,  and  she  was  afraid  that 
the  tyranny  of  the  chloroform  was  asserting  itself  again; 
but  suddenly  he  opened  his  eyes  and  said,  raising  one 
finger  as  though  in  warning: 

"  You  don't  know  what  I  am  afraid  of?  " 

Again  there  came  into  the  intensity  of  his  gaze  the 
characteristic  touch  of  the  startled  animal  seeking  to  com 
prehend.  It  was  a  mood  which  she  had  learned  to  fear 
and  avoid.  She  took  his  hands  in  hers,  pressing  them 
firmly,  as  though  by  the  act  transferring  to  him  some  of 
her  abundant  strength  and  courage. 

"  Some  time  you  can  tell  me  —  not  now.  I  want  you 
to  rest." 

"  Fortier  was  here,  in  this  room,  wasn't  he  ?  "  he  said 
at  length. 

"  Yes." 

"  And  now?" 

"  I  had  O'Leary,  take  him  into  the  studio  until  you 
could  decide " 


176  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

"Decide  what?" 

"  Whether  to  let  him  go  or  to  send  for  the  police/' 
she  said,  after  some  hesitation. 

"  They've  got  him  —  Doctor  Fortier  —  a  prisoner  ?  " 
he  said  slowly. 

"  O'Leary  was  going  to  have  the  police  in  and  turn  him 
over  to  them,  but  I  thought  it  was  better  to  let  you  decide." 

He  turned  and  looked  at  her  gratefully. 

"It's  queer;  you  always  seem  to  know  instinctively 
the  right  thing  to  do.  No ;  not  the  police  —  never  that. 
Whatever  happens  to  me  —  never  that." 

"  I  am  glad  I  was  right,"  she  said,  smiling.  "  Will  you 
follow  my  advice?" 

"  What  would  you  advise  ?  " 

"  Don't  see  him  at  all  —  let  him  go." 

To  her  surprise,  he  acquiesced  immediately.  In  fact, 
the  night's  experience  seemed  to  have  shaken  him  pro 
foundly.  He  seemed  mentally  as  well  as  physically  ex 
hausted,  as  though  prostrated  by  the  shock.  He  looked 
up  at  her  as  a  patient  at  the  attending  nurse  and  said : 

"  Do  what  you  think  best." 

The  reply  was  scarcely  more  than  a  whisper,  and  im 
mediately  his  glance  wandered,  as  though  the  decision 
had  passed  from  his  mind.  She  watched  him  a  moment 
as  he  stared  past  her,  indecision,  trouble,  and  perplexity 
written  on  his  clouded  look;  and  then,  making  up  her 
mind,  stepped  to  the  door  and  beckoned  Belle  Shaler. 

"  Tell  O'Leary  to  keep  him  until  daylight,  and  then  let 
him  go,"  she  said  in  a  whisper. 

The  day  was  struggling  through  the  curtains  of  the 
night  as  she  came  back.  Dangerfield  was  waiting,  his 
hand  running  nervously  over  the  shawl  she  had  thrown 
over  him.  When  she  came  to  his  side  he  seized  her  hand 
instantly  with  a  sigh  of  content  and  turned  and  looked  at 
her  with  distraught  eyes. 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  177 

"  Keep  me  quiet,"  he  said,  and  his  hand  closed  over  hers 
in  a  tighter  dependence.  "  Try  to  keep  me  quiet." 

She  looked  down  at  him  with  her  slow-breaking  smile 
and,  though  the  strain  of  the  night  had  left  her  worn  with 
fatigue,  never  had  she  felt  such  a  complete  sensation  of 
happiness. 


XVIII 

AT  daybreak,  King  O'Leary  loosened  the  ropes  which 
held  Doctor  Fortier  and  signed  to  him  to  follow. 

"  Not  to  the  police-station,  I  presume,"  said  the  other, 
smiling. 

"  If  I  had  my  way  you  would,"  said  O'Leary,  with  bad 
grace,  for  the  doctor's  cool  assurance  had  not  ceased  to 
irritate  him. 

"  Doubtless ;  but  you  see  there  are  certain  cases  which 
have  to  be  settled  in  the  family.  You'll  know  more  of 
this  later." 

"  Next  time,  look  out,"  said  O'Leary  grimly. 

"  There'll  be  no  next  time,"  said  Doctor  Fortier,  with 
a  shrug  of  his  shoulders.  "  You  may  not  believe  me,  but 
it  is  so.  You  can  have  that  satisfaction.  You  can  tell 
that  to  my  precious  brother-in-law." 

With  which  he  went  off  surlily  enough  under  all  his 
assumption  of  indifference.  The  knowledge  of  Fortier's 
relationship  to  Dangerfield  was  but  small  surprise  to  King 
O'Leary.  In  his  own  mind  he  had  long  arrived  at  a 
shrewd  suspicion  of  the  crisis  through  which  his  neigh 
bor  was  passing.  He  called  up  Sassafras  and  put  him  on 
watch  for  any  new  attempt,  improbable  though  it  might 
be.  Upstairs  he  held  a  consultation  with  Inga,  who 
slipped  into  the  hall  for  a  brief  moment,  at  the  end  of 
which  it  was  decided  to  secure  the  aid  of  Flick's  two 
friends  in  the  pugilistic  profession. 

"  The  fellow  claimed  to  be  his  brother-in-law,"  said 
O'Leary.  "  Do  you  think  that's  true?  " 

She  nodded. 

"  I'm  quite  sure." 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  179 

"  Then  that  was  his  wife  who  was  here,  and  she's  at 
the  bottom  of  it  all,"  he  said  thoughtfully.  "  But  why 
should  they  try  to  carry  him  off  like  this?  What  the 
deuce  was  their  object?  Have  you  any  idea?  " 

He  had  been  speaking  his  thoughts  aloud.  Now,  as  he 
looked  at  her,  each  saw  in  the  other's  eyes  that  the  same 
supposition  dominated  them. 

"  You  think  so,  too,"  he  said,  surprised. 

"  But  there  is  no  truth  in  it,"  she  said,  frowning,  angry 
to  have  had  her  thoughts  divined.  "  Whatever  you  do, 
O'Leary,  don't  say  to  any  one  what  —  what  you  believe. 
That  mustn't  be  talked  about." 

"I  sometimes  wonder — "  he  said  slowly,  looking 
toward  the  corner  studio. 

"  You  are  wrong,"  she  said  impatiently,  "  absolutely 
wrong." 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders  unconvinced,  influenced  a 
little,  too,  by  his  jealousy.  "  I'm  not  so  sure  —  anyhow, 
Inga,  what's  to  come  of  it?  We  can't  go  on  forever  like 
this.  If  he  won't  turn  it  over  to  the  police,  sooner  or 
later  they'll  get  him  —  that's  certain." 

"  It's  not  going  to  last,"  she  said  decidedly.  "  He 
keeps  talking  about  the  twentieth  all  the  time.  I  have 
an  idea  that  something  is  bound  to  happen  then.  I  think 
this  was  a  last  desperate  attempt  on  her  part." 

"  The  twentieth,  that's  day  after  to-morrow,"  he  said 
thoughtfully.  "  I  guess  we  can  hold  the  fort  for  two 
nights." 

As  he  was  going  she  stopped  him. 

"  Mind,"  she  said  anxiously ;  "  be  careful  what  you 
say.  Think  all  you  wish,  but  don't  get  the  others  talking. 
It's  not  their  affair  and  —  it  might  do  harm." 

"Aren't  you  sometimes  a  bit  afraid?"  he  said  ab 
ruptly. 

She  laughed. 


i8o  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

"Never;  what  an  idea!" 

"  I  believe  you  can  manage  him,"  he  said,  watching 
her  as  she  stood  lightly,  her  head  thrown  a  little  back, 
and  her  eyes  softened  by  a  touch  of  amusement.  "  Say, 
take  an  hour's  nap.  Let  me  relieve  you." 

"  No,  no,"  she  said;  "  I  am  the  only  one  who  can  quiet 
him."  And,  conscious  of  the  understanding  that  now  lay 
between  them,  she  added  solemnly :  "  O'Leary,  he  is  in 
a  bad  way.  That's  a  fact." 

It  was  not  until  well  into  the  afternoon,  after  Flick  had 
returned  with  the  pugilists,  that  the  memory  of  Drink- 
water  suddenly  returned  to  King  O'Leary.  He  gave 
forth  an  exclamation  with  such  suddenness  that  Tootles 
bounded  across  the  rug,  saying  angrily : 

"  For  the  love  of  Mike,  man,  don't  do  that  —  don't  do 
it !  My  nerves  won't  stand  it !  " 

"What  the  deuce  are  you  going  to  do?"  said  Flick, 
observing  him  to  rise,  make  for  the  door,  and  as  ab 
ruptly  return.  The  pugilists,  who  were  being  utilized 
as  models  for  heroic  bodies  in  the  monumental  decoration 
of  Tootles,  shifted  and  watched  him  hopefully  as  though 
scenting  a  call  to  arms. 

O'Leary  sat  down  and  began  to  stare  at  the  one-eyed 
bear  on  the  floor  with  such  impressive  mental  concentra 
tion  that  they  watched  him  in  silence. 

"  By  George,  I  believe  the  whole  thing  was  planned !  " 
he  said,  striking  his  leg. 

"  Planned?     Of  course  it  was  planned,"  said  Flick. 

"  No,  no;  I  mean  our  being  away  —  out  of  sight  and 
hearing.  The  more  I  think  about  it  —  why,  if  Millie 
hadn't  got  the  creeps  and  run  away,  Inga  never  would 
have  known  where  we  were." 

"  That's  right." 

"  It  was  Millie  who  told  Inga,"  said  Flick,  with  con 
viction. 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  181 

"  King,  I  do  believe  you're  right,"  said  Tootles.  "  It 
was  planned;  the  whole  floor  was  cleared  out  on  pur 
pose." 

"  But  who  did  it?  "  said  Flick.  "  Not  Madame  Pro- 
basco?" 

"  How  about  your  friend,  the  lawyer!  " 

"  Drinkwater !  "  said  Tootles,  rising  in  fury.  "By 
Jove,  of  course  —  no  doubt  about  it!" 

"  No ;  I  don't  think  there  is  much  doubt,"  said  O'Leary. 
"  Hold  on  there ;  you  can't  go  out  and  demolish  him  sin 
gle-handed." 

"  He  had  the  door  locked,"  said  Flick  reflecting,  "  and 
he  tried  to  throw  the  lights  off —  Why,  the  low-down 
little  pup!" 

"  Yes ;  I  guess  that's  all  true,"  said  O'Leary  slowly. 
"  That's  been  his  game  for  a  long  while.  Well,  suppose 
we  find  out  a  little  more."  He  started  toward  the  door 
again  and  stopped.  "  No,  no ;  that  wouldn't  work.  We 
must  find  some  way  to  get  him  in  here  and  try  a  little 
third-degree  treatment.  We  might  get  him  in  to  pose 
for  Tootles  —  only  he'd  see  through  that.  Best  plan  is 
to  have  Schneibel  ask  him  into  his  place,  and  that  won't 
be  easy  either.  The  fellow's  no  fool.  .  .  ." 

But  as  they  were  studying  over  ways  and  means, 
Myrtle  Popper  came  in  with  fresh  information  by  way  of 
Sassafras.  The  lawyer  had  decamped  during  the  night, 
for  a  messenger-boy  had  been  sent  up  with  a  note  calling 
for  a  valise  which  was  in  his  room.  This  last  bit  of  evi 
dence  was  conclusive  to  their  minds,  already  strongly 
prejudiced.  Likewise,  it  made  them  fear  a  new  attack, 
and,  with  this  in  mind,  they  prepared  anxiously  for  the 
coming  of  the  night. 

When  Inga  had  told  O'Leary  of  her  anxiety,  she  had 
not  overstated  the  situation.  Dangerfield  had  found  a 


1 82  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

few  hours'  rest  in  the  morning,  a  rest  broken  by  scurrying, 
baneful  dreams.  When  he  awoke,  though  he  seemed 
physically  refreshed,  the  mind  remained  in  a  lethargy. 
Instead  of  the  rapid  change  of  moods  with  sudden  out 
bursts  of  irritation  to  which  she  had  grown  accustomed, 
she  found  him  all  at  once  pensive,  subdued,  and  given  to 
long,  staring  silences. 

"  To-day  is  the  eighteenth  ?  "  he  said  to  her,  without 
turning  his  head. 

"  Yes,  the  eighteenth,"  she  answered  cheerily. 

"  That's  what  I  thought/' 

An  hour  later,  he  repeated  the  question  without  noticing 
the  repetition.  Later  in  the  afternoon,  he  took  up  his 
interminable  solitaire;  but  the  movements  of  the  cards 
were  made  mechanically,  and  he  made  many  mistakes 
without  noticing  them. 

"  They're  running  very  badly,"  he  said  querulously. 

"  Try  again,"  she  said,  ensconcing  herself  on  the  arm 
of  the  great  chair.  "  Here,  I'll  cut  for  luck." 

He  allowed  her  to  take  the  pack  and  to  spread  it  in  deft 
lines.  When  the  layout  was  completed,  she  clapped  her 
hands. 

"  There  you  see  —  the  six  on  the  seven,  and  you  have 
a  space  the  first  thing !  Let's  see  the  next  card." 

They  began  to  pla}^  and,  leaning  against  him,  she  drew 
her  arm  over  his  shoulder,  bending  forward  alertly  to 
watch  the  shifting  of  the  cards.  But  the  luck  which  had 
been  favorable  suddenly  changed,  and  after  a  moment, 
impatiently,  he  put  out  his  hand  and  brushed  the  cards 
away,  saying: 

"  No  use."  He  stared  blankly  at  the  table  and  then 
brought  his  knuckles  up  against  his  teeth  with  a  deep 
breath.  "  Wish  I  could  get  out  —  out  of  this  —  any 
where  !  " 

"  You  will  soon  —  in  two  days." 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  183 

"  Two  days  —  yes,  of  course,"  he  said,  nodding.  "  I 
must  hold  on  until  then." 

The  hand  which  lay  on  the  table  opened  and  closed 
and  opened  again  in  helpless  indecision.  In  all  his  brood 
ing,  the  effort  seemed  directed  against  some  internal  dan 
ger,  some  struggle  of  the  soul.  She  felt  this,  as  she  felt 
the  trembling  of  the  balance  of  fate,  and  all  her  reserve 
vanished  before  the  needs  of  the  man  who,  on  his  part, 
sought  nothing  from  her. 

"  Mr.  Dan,"  she  said,  passing  her  cool  hand  over  tne 
furrowed  brow  and  bending  over  him,  "  Mr.  Dan,  can't 
I  help?  Won't  you  let  me?  " 

"  You  can't  —  no  one  can,"  he  said,  shaking  his  head. 

"  I  must  tell  you  one  thing :  There's  nothing  to  fear. 
We'll  watch  for  you  to-night  —  O'Leary's  arranged  that," 
she  said  rapidly,  misunderstanding  him.  "  He's  got  two 
men  to  spend  the  night  —  the  men  who  were  here  that 
night." 

"  You  did  that,"  he  said,  and  he  patted  her  hand  gently, 
while  a  smile  came  to  his  face  for  the  first  time. 

"Would  you  like  them  in  to-night?  Wouldn't  it  be 
easier  to  have  a  party?"  she  said,  looking  at  him  anx 
iously,  longing  to  stir  him  out  of  himself.  "  Wouldn't 
that  occupy  you?" 

"  No,  no,"  he  said,  shrinking  at  the  thought ;  "  to-mor 
row,  not  to-night.  You  don't  understand  —  it's  quiet  I 
want  now,  to  stop  this  thing  beating  in  here."  His  hand 
went  to  his  forehead  and  his  fingers  strained  there  as 
though  in  the  effort  to  seize  some  throbbing  torment  un 
derneath  and  crush  it.  Instinctively  her  arm  drew  tight 
about  his  body,  pressing  him  close  to  her,  and  she  said 
impressively,  tears  rising  to  her  eyes : 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Dan,  why  can't  I  help  you  ?  I  would  give 
anything  —  anything  to  be  of  some  good." 

"  What's  that  ?  "  he  said,  suddenly  sitting  up,  his  head 


1 84  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

on  one  side,  listening.  "On  the  roof  —  just  now  — 
didn't  you  hear?" 

She  went  swiftly  to  the  window  and  looked  out. 

"  Nothing  at  all,"  she  said,  smiling  at  him  as  at  a 
startled  child.  "  What  a  crazy  idea !  " 

The  moment  she  had  said  the  careless  words,  she  re 
gretted  it. 

"Crazy?  You  think  I'm  crazy?"  he  said,  jerking 
around. 

"  Why,  Mr.  Danger-field,"  she  said,  distressed,  "  don't 
look  at  me  that  way." 

"  You  think  I'm  crazy  —  you  do  ?  "  He  repeated  his 
question,  seizing  her  wrists,  watching  her  closely  with  his 
sharp,  short  glances. 

"  No;  you're  not  crazy,"  she  said  vehemently. 

He  continued  to  watch  her,  plainly  unconvinced. 

"  I'm  not  crazy  —  no,"  he  said,  at  length,  wearily,  "  but 
—  I  could  be  driven  to  it.  Yes,  yes;  lots  of  times  that's 
happened.  That's  what  they  counted  on,  and  if  they  had 
got  me  —  if  I  had  waked  up  in  a  cell  —  a  padded  cell  — " 
He  shrank  back,  recoiling  at  the  picture  which  rose  before 
him,  his  fingers  twisting  in  his  hair.  "  God,  what  might 
not  have  happened !  Now  you  know." 

"  Yes ;  I've  known  that." 

"  You  have?  "  he  said,  surprised. 

"  I  mean,  I've  known  what  you  were  afraid  of,"  she 
said  solemnly. 

"  I  am  afraid,  dreadfully  afraid,"  he  said,  in  a  whisper, 
"  but  that  —  that's  one  thing  will  never  happen,"  he 
added  in  a  tone  of  deep  conviction ;  "  no,  never." 

"No;  for  I  won't  let  you,"  she  said  firmly.  "You 
shan't  lose  your  grasp.  When  things  are  straightened 
out,  you're  going  to  begin  a  new  life  —  a  life  of  work." 

He  looked  at  her  nervously,  doubting,  but  longing  to 
be  convinced. 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  185 

"  I  mean  it,"  she  said,  and,  as  her  eyes  met  his,  the 
sjow  smile  spread  on  her  face,  as  she  looked  down  upon 
him  with  deep  compassion.  He  half  yielded  and  then 
brusquely  withdrew. 

' '  Too  late !  Why  didn't  I  meet  you  ten  years  ago  ?  " 
he  said,  with  a  shrug  of  his  shoulders.  He  rose,  turned, 
and  faced  her,  with  a  return  of  the  old  authority.  "  Inga, 
don't  —  what  I've  made  up  my  mind  to  do  —  you  can't 
change.  It's  got  to  be  done  —  it  shall  be  done !  " 

And  in  the  tone  with  which  he  said  this  there  was  some 
thing  so  desperately  resolved  and  hopeless  that,  for  the 
first  time,  she  felt  a  sinking  sense  of  defeat. 

Before  she  could  rally,  and  while  still  Dangerfield's 
glassy  stare  was  fixed  on  her,  there  came  a  cautious  knock 
at  the  door  —  a  scraping,  sliding  tattoo. 

"  Who's  that?  "  he  said  hastily. 

The  knock  was  repeated. 

"  Better  let  me  go,"  she  said,  with  a  warning  gesture. 
She  went  to  the  window  first,  for  a  survey  of  the  roofs, 
and  then  to  the  bolted  door.  Suddenly  she  drew  back 
with  an  exclamation.  Outside,  the  tall,  thin  form  of 
Drinkwater  was  standing. 


XIX 

SHE  shut  the  door  and  locked  it  with  a  hasty  move 
ment  and  came  back. 

"Who  was  it?"  he  said,  with  rising  excitement. 

"  Only  Mr.  Drinkwater." 

"  Drinkwater !     What  can  he  want  here  ?  " 

Neither  had  the  slightest  suspicion  of  the  lawyer's  com 
plicity  in  the  events  of  the  night  before.  The  scraping 
knock  began  again. 

"  We'll  see  him,"  he  said,  all  at  once,  his  curiosity 
whetted,  and,  in  obedience  to  his  signal,  she  went  to  the 
door  and  opened  it  cautiously  —  far  enough  to  permit 
Drinkwater's  slipping  into  the  room.  Dangerfield  was  at 
the  further  end,  standing  by  the  head  of  the  table,  where 
the  light  of  two  candlesticks  lit  up  his  round,  shaggy  head 
and  deep  eyes. 

Drinkwater  glided  across  the  room  until  only  the  table 
separated  them,  before  jerking  his  head  backward  tc 
where  Inga  in  the  shadow  stood  guard  at  the  door. 

"  Mr.  Dangerfield,"  he  said,  "  I  have  come  here  with  a 
message  from  some  one — "  he  stopped,  blew  nervously 
through  his  nose,  and  continued  — "  some  one  you  may 
guess  —  some  one  close  to  you.  The  message  is  strictly 
private." 

"  Go  on.  I'll  hear  it,"  said  Dangerfield,  bending  his 
brows  down  and  playing  with  a  paper-weight  that  hap 
pened  to  be  near  by.  The  whole  attitude  held  so  much 
threat  that  the  lawyer's  eyes  calculated  the  proportions  of 
the  table  that  served  him  as  a  barricade. 

"  But  " —  he  glanced  a  second  time  toward  Inga  with  a 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  187 

raising  of  his  eyebrows  — "  do  you  wish  any  one  to  be  a 
third  to  our  conversation?  It  is,  of  course " 

"  Inga,  wait!  I  wish  you  to  stay,"  said  Dangerfieid, 
as  he  heard  in  the  shadows  the  slight  rustle  of  her  dress. 
"  There  is  nothing  to  show  that  he  has  anything  of  im 
portance." 

"  It  is  from  your  wife,"  said  Drinkwater,  with  a  smile, 
and  his  glance  went  down  to  his  fingers,  which  were 
pressed  on  the  black,  glossy  surface  of  the  table  as  though 
in  the  act  of  striking  some  resounding  chord. 

"  Perhaps  I  had  better  —  I  can  wait  just  outside,"  she 
said  hurriedly. 

"  No  —  no  —  if  what  he  says  is  true,"  said  Dangerfield 
peremptorily,  "  all  the  more  reason.  I  want  you  to  hear 
what  passes  between  this  man  and  myself." 

"  Very  well."  She  left  the  door  and,  seeing  the  ex 
citement  which  had  begun  to  work  in  him  at  the  lawyer's 
announcement,  came  to  his  side  to  control  him. 

Drinkwater's  glance  rose  from  the  table  and  rested  on 
them  with  a  certain  malicious  enjoyment. 

"  First,  I  have  a  surprise,  an  agreeable  surprise,  for 
you,"  he  said,  with  a  flicker  of  a  smile,  and  his  manner 
of  accenting  his  phrase  made  them  feel  that  he  had  re 
ferred  to  them  both.  "  Mr.  Dangerfield,  you  are  a  free 
man;  your  divorce  was  granted  this  afternoon." 

Of  the  two,  Inga  showed  the  more  emotion.  She 
started  and  drew  away  from  Dangerfield  as  though  sud 
denly  conscious  of  the  intimacy  of  their  attitude,  while 
her  companion  received  the  announcement  with  a  shrug. 

"  That  can't  be  true.  And  it  is  impossible  for  you  to 
know  it." 

"  It  is  true,"  said  Drinkwater.  "  And  to  show  that  I 
have  ways  of  knowing  that  may  surprise  you,  the  action 
was  held  in  Rhode  Island  under  a  referee  appointed  by 
Judge  Chough,  of  the " 


1 88  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

"  You  know  this !  "  exclaimed  Dangerfield,  in  amaze 
ment. 

"  Don't  worry  —  no  one  else  will  know,"  said  Drink- 
water  suavely.  "  I  know,  because  I  made  it  my  business 
to  know." 

"  So  you  have  been  spying  on  me  all  this  while,"  said 
Dangerfield,  with  a  sudden  contraction  of  the  eyes  that 
brought  the  brows  down  into  a  lowering,  menacing  line. 

"  I  have  been  fulfilling  my  duties,"  said  Drinkwater 
coolly  enough,  though  he  stopped  to  puff  through  his  thin, 
hooked  nose ;  "  duties  as  an  attorney  retained  by  the  in 
terests  of  your  wife — Mrs.  Daniel  Garford." 

At  this  mention  of  his  real  name,  Dangerfield's  anger, 
curiously  enough,  seemed  to  subside.  Indeed,  in  the  suc 
ceeding  quiet  and  the  mildness  of  his  voice,  there  was  al 
most  a  premeditated  cunning. 

"  Well,  it  is  quite  evident  that  you  are  well-informed," 
he  said.  "  You  say  that  the  divorce  was  pronounced  this 
afternoon  —  may  I  ask  how  you  should  be  the  one  to 
inform  me,  instead  of  my  own  lawyer?  " 

"  Because  I  received  the  news  by  telephone  twenty 
minutes  ago." 

"  And  you  have  communicated  the  news  to  my  —  to 
Mrs.  Garford?" 

"  I  have  not." 

"  You  said  you  had  a  message  to  me  from  her,"  said 
Dangerfield  slowly.  "  What  is  it?  " 

"  That  is  not  quite  correct,"  said  Drinkwater,  and,  for 
the  first  time,  he  displayed  a  touch  of  nervousness,  for  he 
did  not  answer  directly.  "  First,  I  believe  I  have  ren 
dered  you  a  service  in  giving  this  information." 

"How  so?" 

"  You  have  now,  of  course,  nothing  further  to  fear 
from  any  attempt  on  your  wife's  part  to  shut  you  up 
under  plea  of  medical  necessity,"  said  Drinkwater  rapidly, 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  189 

"  an  attempt  that  had  a  certain  legal  plausibility  under 
order  of  a  court  for  your  committal  for  examination." 

"What,  there  was  such  an  order?"  said  Dangerfield, 
trembling  with  excitement.  "  They  went  that  far?  " 

"  I  have  reason  to  believe  so,"  said  Drinkwater,  smiling. 
"  Nothing  more  easy  to  obtain.  You,  of  course,  realize 
that  the  object  was  to  prevent  the  granting  of  the  divorce. 
As  I  say,  much  as  Mrs.  Garford  or  others  " —  he  paused 
and  glanced  at  them  significantly  — "  or  others  might  de 
sire  to  have  you  out  of  the  way,  any  attempt  now  would 
be  a  most  serious  offense.  It  will  not  be  made.  There 
fore,  you  may  be  assured  that  you  can  now  circulate  with 
out  danger." 

"  Very  probably,"  said  Dangerfield,  with  a  contemptu 
ous  smile,  "  it  would  please  Doctor  Fortier  to  have  me 
make  the  attempt  —  to-night?  " 

"You  do  not  believe  me?"  said  Drinkwater,  shrug 
ging  his  shoulders.  "  You  will  be  convinced  to-morrow." 

"What  is  your  message  from  Mrs.  Garford?"  said 
Inga  suddenly.  She  had  been  watching  the  lawyer  with 
a  growing  apprehension,  which  had  showed  itself  in  her 
frequent  strained  listenings  to  sounds  from  the  hall. 

Drinkwater  pursed-  his  lips,  studied  solemnly  the 
Winged  Victory  in  the  dark  corner,  frowned,  and  looked 
point-blank  at  Dangerfield. 

"  Mr.  Garford,  haven't  I  said  enough  to  convince  you 
of  my  familiarity  with  your  affairs?  I  really  must  ask 
you  to  hear  what  I  have  to  say  without  the  presence  of 
witnesses." 

To  his  surprise,  it  was  Inga  herself  who  opposed  him. 

"  I  don't  trust  him,"  she  said  emphatically.  "  Don't 
see  him  alone." 

"  Quite  right,"  said  Dangerfield.  "  If  you  have  any 
thing  to  say  to  me,  say  it  now." 

This  was  plainly  not  to  the  other's  liking,  for  he  drew 


190  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

back  and  jerked  nervously  at  his  cuff,  with  an  evil  glance 
at  the  girl  who,  alert  and  watchful,  kept  her  deep  eyes  on 
his  every  movement. 

"  The  agreement  was,"  he  said  slowly,  "  that  your  wife 
should  marry  — "  He  paused  and  looked  at  Dangerfield. 
"Shall  I  go  on?" 

"  Go  on!"  said  Dangerfield  roughly,  though  he  was 
plainly  startled  at  the  extent  of  the  lawyer's  knowledge. 

"  Should  marry  a  certain  party  —  a  certain  Mr.  Bow- 
den  —  you  see  I  am  informed  —  within  forty-eight  hours 
after  the  granting  of  the  decree." 

Dangerfield  gazed  at  him  in  astonishment.  Twice  he 
started  to  speak  and  twice  he  stopped;  finally  he  man 
aged  to  say: 

"You  have  come  from  my  wife,  that's  evident.  It 
must  be  some  dirty  work  or  she  would  not  have  sent  you. 
What  is  it?" 

Drinkwater,  as  though  fairly  in,  took  this  remark  with 
out  offense  and  said,  in  a  businesslike  voice  quite  different 
from  the  affectation  of  his  former  manner. 

'''  Your  wife  does  not  desire  this  marriage.  That  is 
not  news  to  you;  but  if  you  will  relinquish  your  purpose, 
she  agrees  to  forego  all  the  settlements  you  have  made 
on  her  and  in  addition " 

"  What!  She  sent  you  here  to  bribe  me!  "  exclaimed 
Dangerfield,  in  such  a  voice  that  the  other  drew  back  in 
stinctively. 

"  Mr.  Garford,  I  haven't  told  you  the  truth,"  he  said 
hastily.  "  I  represent  Mr.  David  Macklin." 

"  Who  ?  "  said  Dangerfield,  drawing  back  in  turn. 

"Mr.  David  Macklin!" 

"  Not  a  word  —  not  a  word !  "  said  Dangerfield,  in 
whom  the  name  roused  a  sudden  fury.  "  Don't  you 
dare " 

"  My  client  offers  you  one  hundred  thousand  dollars 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  191 

if  you  will  not  insist  on  this  marriage  to  Mr.  Bow- 
den." 

Dangerfield's  anger,  which  for  a  moment  had  threat 
ened  to  burst  into  a  rage,  turned  all  at  once  into  some 
thing  cold  and  ominously  calm. 

"  My  answer  to  your  client  —  not  Mr.  David  Macklin, 
but  Mrs.  Garford,  is  No !  Mrs.  Garford  will  marry  Mr. 
Bowden  within  the  limit  I  have  set,  or " 

"  Listen,  Mr.  Garford,"  said  Drinkwater  desperately, 
his  eyes  flashing  greedily  with  the  thought  of  escaping 
commissions.  "  Take  my  advice  —  refuse !  " 

"What  do  you  mean?"  said  Dangerfield  sharply. 
"  You  tell  me  to  refuse?" 

"Refuse!  Refuse!"  said  the  lawyer  excitedly. 
"  You  have  stripped  yourself ;  you  have  made  yourself  a 
beggar  for  a  ridiculous  point  of  honor  —  refuse  all  offers, 
put  yourself  in  my  hands.  I'll  show  you  how  to  get  re 
venge  and  mulct  them,  too.  Then  Mr.  Macklin  will  pay 
not  one  hundred  but  three  —  four  times  that  much  —  half 
a  miH » 

"  Ah,  you  vermin !  " 

Dangerfield,  with  a  cry,  had  taken  a  frame  from  the 
table  and  brought  it  down  on  the  greedy  head,  and  as  the 
lawyer  struggled  back,  he  caught  him  by  the  throat  in  a 
frenzy  of  rage  and  disgust. 

Inga,  terrified  at  what  he  might  do,  clung  to  him,  striv 
ing  to  drag  him  from  his  grip.  At  the  noise  of  the  scuffle, 
O'Leary  and  the  others  came  precipitately  in  from  the 
studio,  believing  that  another  assault  was  on. 

"  Tear  him  away  —  oh,  get  him  away  —  he'll  kill  him," 
Inga  shouted,  as  they  burst  in. 

"  Hands  off!  "  said  Dangerfield,  in  a  voice  like  a  thun 
der-clap.  "  I  know  what  I'm  doing !  Killing's  too  good 
for  this  scum.  Make  way  there !  "  Still  with  his  hand 
on  the  other's  throat,  he  dragged  him  down  the  hall  to  the 


192  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

top  of  the  stairs.     "  Go  back  to  your  clients  and  let  them 
know  what  I'll  do  if  they  fail  me  by  one  hour!  " 

With  which,  as  though  the  man  had  been  an  old  shoe, 
he  flung  him  down  the  stairs  and  returned  like  a  stalking 
fury  through  the  group  which  watched  him  breathlessly. 


XX 

DESPITE  the  probability  that  the  lawyer  had  told  the 
truth,  the  night  passed  in  vigilant  waiting.  The  two 
pugilists  curled  upon  the  sofa ;  O'Leary  dozed  in  the  big 
chair,  while  Dangerfield,  at  the  great  Florentine  table, 
his  chin  sunk  in  his  palms,  stared  ahead  of  him,  the  long 
periods  of  immobility  broken  only  by  brief  nervous  re 
sorting  to  the  cards.  Inga,  by  his  side,  sought  to  occupy 
her  mind  with  a  novel.  From  the  moment  she  had 
learned  from  the  lawyer  of  the  divorce,  her  attitude 
toward  Dangerfield  had  taken  on  an  unwonted  reserve. 
It  was  long  after  midnight  when  he  turned  and  looked 
at  her.  She  raised  her  eyes  —  she  had  not  been  reading 
for  some  time  —  and  met  his. 

"What  is  it?"  she  said,  smiling. 

"  You  had  better  go  to  bed." 

She  shook  her  head.     "  I  couldn't  sleep." 

"  But  you  are  not  reading." 

"  No ;  I  was  thinking." 

He  started  to  question  her  further  and  then  stopped. 

"  You  knew  all  along  who  I  was,"  he  said  at  last. 

"  Yes  —  from  the  first." 

*'  And  that  made  no  difference?  " 

She  shook  her  head,  smiling  a  little,  but  not  looking  at 
him. 

"  A  precious  fine  reputation  I've  got,"  he  said  bitterly. 
"  Wait  till  you  see  what  the  papers  will  make  of  Dan 
Garford's  latest  escapade !  " 

She  shrugged  her  shoulder  impatiently,  and  checked  a 
reply  with  a  quick  frown  and  a  glance  at  the  others,  as 
though  conscious  of  their  sleeping  intrusion. 


194  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

"  I  think  he  told  the  truth,"  he  said  disjointedly,  after 
a  moment. 

"Who?     Drinkwater?" 

"Yes;  I'm  sure  of  it."  He  pressed  his  knuckles 
against  his  lips  and  said,  frowning,  "  Well,  that  leaves 
only  one  more  thing  to  do."  He  said  it  quietly,  but  with 
an  accent  of  deep  finality.  When  she  thought  him  quite 
lost  in  this  mood,  he  surprised  her  by  saying,  "  Why  does 
it  make  a  difference  to  you?"  He  turned,  caught  the 
look  of  astonishment  on  her  face,  and  added :  "  Why 
would  you  rather  that  I  should  be  married?  " 

"  Why  do  you  say  that?  "  she  said,  genuinely  amazed 
at  his  intuition. 

"  You  are  different  —  you  are  not  the  same  —  I  feel 
it." 

She  waited  a  moment,  and  then  said  hurriedly,  in  a 
low  voice : 

"  If  I  told  you,  you  wouldn't  understand!  " 

At  this  moment,  O'Leary,  probably  disturbed  at  the 
sound  of  voices,  moved  heavily  in  his  chair.  Danger- 
field  waited  a  moment  to  assure  himself  that  the  sleep  was 
still  profound,  before  saying: 

"  I  am  not  so  sure  I  don't  understand  now."  He 
looked  at  her  keenly,  albeit  with  gentleness,  for  there  was 
a  softness  in  his  eyes  and  the  smile  that  came  to  his  lips 
was  one  of  comprehension.  He  laid  his  hand  over  hers 
and  said :  "  Isn't  it  because  —  before  nothing  bound  you 
—  you  were  free  to  go  any  moment.  There's  something 
wild  in  you  —  untamed." 

"  I  don't  know  —  I  really  don't  know,"  she  said,  look 
ing  away. 

"  I've  never  misunderstood  you,  child,"  he  said,  nod 
ding  as  though  satisfied.  "  Don't  worry.  Men  like  me 
don't  bruise  — "  he  hesitated  a  moment,  patted  her  hand, 
and  said  softly,  "  guardian  angels." 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  195 

"Oh,  I  never  was  afraid  of  that!"  she  said  swiftly, 
turning  impulsively  toward  him. 

"  I'm  not  going  to  put  a  cloud  over  your  life,"  he  said 
doggedly. 

He  rose,  left  her,  and  went  to  the  window.'  She  ex 
tinguished  the  light  and  came  softly  over  to  his  side  until 
her  hand  slipped  through  his  arm. 

"  Why  did  you  do  that?  "  he  said,  feeling  the  sudden 
drop  of  darkness  about  them  and  then,  answering  his 
question,  he  added,  "  There  is  nothing  to  fear  now  —  I 
feel  that." 

She  stood  silently  beside  him  looking  out,  and  the  touch 
on  his  arm  seemed  gradually  to  grow  heavier  until  her 
body  drew  close  to  his  side.  In  the  black  night,  one  win 
dow  flamed  out,  feverishly  alive  against  a  distant  tene 
ment. 

"  Wonder  what's  going  on  there,  too  ?  "  he  said  mood 
ily.  "  I  wonder  what  poor  devil's  fighting  out  his  fight 
there?" 

She  did  not  answer,  and  then  all  at  once  her  hands 
closed  about  his  arm,  and  she  said, 

"  Mr.  Dan,  don't  go  away." 

"  What  makes  you  say  that  ?  "  he  said,  startled. 

"  Don't  go  away  from  me,"  she  said,  in  her  deep  voice. 
"  Promise  me  that." 

"No;  I  can't  promise  that,"  he  said,  between  his  teeth. 

"  But  you'll  tell  me  first  —  just  promise  that,"  she  in 
sisted.  He  shook  his  head.  "  Oh,  I  don't  know  why  I 
am  like  this  to-night,"  she  said  impulsively,  "  but  I  know 
if  you  went  away  — "  She  stopped  and  something  caught 
in  her  throat. 

He  gave  an  exclamation  and  caught  her  in  his  arms  in 
a  close  clasp. 

"  Inga,  Inga,  don't ;  it's  more  than  I  can  bear." 

"  Promise,  promise,"  she  said  incoherently,  and  her 


196  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

hands  fastened  to  his  coat  as  she  hid  her  head  against  his 
shoulder. 

"  I  promise  not  to  —  to  go  without  telling  you  why," 
he  said,  at  last.  "  Will  that  satisfy  you?  " 

She  caught  his  hand  swiftly  and  pressed  it  against  her 
heart.  Then  she  went  back  hastily  to  the  table  and  lit  the 
light.  O'Leary  suddenly  aroused,  started  up.  It  was 
almost  four  o'clock. 

The  next  morning  came  DangerfiekTs  lawyer,  Judge 
Brangman,  with  his  clerk,  to  confirm  the  news  that  Drink- 
water  had  brought.  The  interview  was  private,  even  the 
clerk  presently  reappearing  in  the  hall  and  departing. 
Judge  Brangman  was  closeted  a  full  two  hours,  and  that 
the  meeting  was  not  without  dissension  was  obvious,  not 
only  from  the  prolongation  of  the  discussion  but  by  the 
frequent  rise  of  angry  voices.  Finally,  the  door  opened 
on  an  evidently  complete  disagreement,  for  Dangerfield's 
voice  was  heard  saying : 

"  Judge,  this  is  not  a  question  of  law ;  it  is  something  — 
permit  me  —  that  you  don't  seem  to  understand/' 

"  I  only  understand,"  said  the  voice  of  the  visitor,  in 
high-pitched  exasperation,  "  that  you  are  beggaring  your 
self  for  a  quixotic  idea,  and  that  I,  as  your  legal  adviser, 
have  a  right  to  protest." 

"  Possibly.  But  my  mind's  set.  I  like  to  buy  the  cur. 
See  that  the  information  is  sent  to  me  this  afternoon  — 
time  and  place." 

"  Dan  —  a  last  time  —  won't  anything  shake  you?  " 

"  Nothing." 

"  But  we're  not  living  in  the  Middle  Ages.  Men  don't 
do  such  things." 

"  I  do,"  said  Dangerfield,  with  cold  harshness,  "  and 
they  know  it." 

"  I  give  up,"  said  the  judge,  with  something  like  a 
break  in  his  voice.  "  Go  on ;  do  what  you  want." 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  197 

"  Call  me  anything  you  want,"  said  Dangerfield,  with 
the  same  ominous  calm.  "  Probably  I  am  a  fool ;  pos 
sibly  I  always  have  been  one,  but  that's  why  I'm  going  to 
carry  my  point." 

The  judge  put  up  his  hands  in  helpless  rage  and  went 
stumbling  down  the  hall,  while  those  in  O'Leary's  room 
heard  him  exclaim, 

"  Mad  —  perfectly  mad !  " 

By  this  time,  the  Three  Arts,  so  to  speak,  had  come  to 
the  same  conclusion. 

"  Wish  the  devil  he'd  get  it  over  with,"  said  Flick 
wearily,  "  whatever  he's  going  to  do.  I've  seen  some 
sporting  life,  but,  holy  cats!  this  being  on  the  jump  all 
hours  of  the  night  and  day  is  getting  into  my  constitu 
tion." 

"  I  say,  Music,"  said  Tootles,  equally  distressed,  "  why 
don't  you  loosen  up  and  tell  what  you  know.  We've 
stood  enough,  don't  you  think  ?  " 

Thus  confronted,  O'Leary  said  cautiously : 

"  Well,  what's  puzzling  you?  " 

"  Puzzling  us !  That's  good !  "  said  Flick,  with  a  loud 
laugh.  "  What  we  want  to  know  is  what's  all  this  mys 
tery-game  —  and,  most  important,  when  do  we  settle 
down  and  sleep  ?  " 

"  Why,  I  don't  see  why  I  shouldn't  tell  you  what  I 
know,"  said  O'Leary  frankly,  "  specially  as  you  must 
have  guessed  the  same.  From  all  I  can  figure,  it's  a  fam 
ily  affair ;  friend  in  corner  has  forced  a  divorce ;  leastwise 
it  must  be  so,  for,  from  all  we  can  put  together,  that's 
what  brought  the  woman  here  that  night  to  try  and  get 
him  to  give  up  the  idea.  Likewise,  when  that  failed, 
looks  as  though  they  tried  to  get  him  jugged  for  a  loony 
and  put  away." 

"  But  why  should  she  care  about  preventing  the  di 
vorce?  "  said  Flick. 


198  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

"Question  of  money,  I  suppose,"  said  O'Leary 
thoughtfully. 

"  But,  then,  Drinkwater?  "  said  Tootles.  "  How  was 
he  in  it?  I  know  that  he  must  have  been  spying  around 
and  carrying  information  and  that  he  was  in  the  plot  to 
get  us  out  the  way  —  yes,  yes  —  but  this  last  business  — 
what  the  deuce  did  he  say  that  started  Dangerfield  off  like 
a  wild  bull?" 

O'Leary  shook  his  head. 

"  Some  dirty  business  —  the  fellow  was  double-cross 
ing  some  one,  perhaps." 

"  Well,  when  is  it  going  to  stop  ?  "  said  Flick  queru 
lously.  "  That's  the  only  thing  interests  me." 

"  I  imagine  it's  over  now,"  said  O'Leary,  who  knew 
of  the  granting  of  the  divorce  but  was  ignorant  of  any 
further  complications;  "  in  fact,  I'm  positive." 

"You  are,  eh?"  said  Flick  incredulously. 

"  I'd  take  my  oath  on  it." 

At  this  moment,  there  came  a  sharp,  rattling  knock; 
the  door  opened,  and  Dangerfield  walked  in. 

"Am  I  interrupting?" 

"  No." 

There  had  come  a  change  in  the  man  which  struck  them 
at  once ;  the  indecision  and  groping  weariness  of  the  last 
days  had  lifted.  He  seemed  alive  with  energy  and  action, 
and  yet,  as  he  stood  there  looking  about  the  room,  there 
was  about  him  momentarily  the  same  expression  which 
had  startled  them  on  his  first  appearance. 

"  What  can  we  do  for  you  ?  "  asked  O'Leary  naturally 
and  heartily. 

Dangerfield  looked  down  abruptly,  his  face  cleared,  and 
he  said  in  a  matter-of-fact  tone : 

"  O'Leary,  will  you  do  me  one  more  service?  " 

"  Sure." 

"  Will  you  accompany  me  this  afternoon  for  about  an 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  199 

hour  to  a  place  I  am  going?    I  shall  know  in  a  short 
while." 

"  Nothing  easier,"  said  O'Leary ;  but,  under  the  ease  of 
his  manner,  he  was  watching  Dangerfield  closely. 

"  Thanks."  He  started  to  go  and  stopped.  "  There'll 
be  no  trouble  —  and  yet  you  might  as  well  be  prepared." 

"  I  get  you !  "  said  O'Leary,  with  a  nod. 

Dangerfield  returned  to  his  room,  leaving  consternation 
behind.  Tootles  was  so  overcome  that  he  upset  a  box  of 
charcoal,  while  Flick  gave  vent  to  a  prolonged  whistle, 
adding  sarcastically, 

"  Peace  and  calm  descendeth !  " 

"  What  the  deuce  is  up  ?  "  said  O'Leary,  scratching  his 
ear.  "  I  don't  get  this  at  all !  " 

"  Well,  I  know  one  thing,"  said  Flick  vehemently;  "  I 
think  you're  a  bigger  fool  than  I  took  you  for  if  you 
start  out  on  any  gunman  visit  without  knowing  into  what 
little  pocket  you're  walking." 

O'Leary  evidently  thought  as  much,  for  presently  he 
wandered  up  the  hall  in  search  of  Inga,  but  the  girl  was 
away,  and  before  she  had  returned  something  else  had 
happened.  A  messenger  arrived  with  a  letter  for  Dan 
gerfield,  which  he  read  with  evident  satisfaction,  for  he 
came  down  to  the  studio  and  said  briskly: 

"  O'Leary,  can  you  be  ready  to  start  in  an  hour?  " 

"  I  don't  See  why  not,"  said  O'Leary. 

"  Four  o'clock,  ;hen." 

A  few  minutes  before  that  hour,  O'Leary,  ready  for 
the  street,  made  a  last  attempt  to  find  Inga,  in  the  hope 
that  she  could  throw  some  light  on  the  errand  on  which 
he  was  embarked.  But  the  girl  was  not  in  her  room,  and 
as  he  was  turning  away,  Dangerfield  came  out  alone. 
King  O'Leary  could  not  suppress  an  exclamation  of  sur 
prise.  The  man  stood  before  him  in  top-hat,  a  cutaway 
revealed  through  the  folds  of  his  fur  coat.  By  the  slen- 


200  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

der  gray-silk  cravat,  caught  in  an  old-fashioned  ring,  and 
the  light  gloves  in  his  hand,  he  might  have  been  mistaken 
for  a  bridegroom. 

"  I  say,  are  we  going  to  a  wedding?"  said  O'Leary 
facetiously. 

"Yes,"  said  Dangerfield,  rather  taken  back.  "Just 
that,  a  wedding." 

"  A  wedding!  "  said  O'Leary,  in  blank  astonishment. 

"  Now  you  know,"  said  Dangerfield,  who  didn't  seem 
particularly  pleased  at  the  disclosure. 

"  I  don't  know  anything  at  all,"  said  O'Leary,  who 
followed  him,  grumbling  and  shaking  his  head,  his  imagi 
nation  filled  with  the  eccentric  possibilities  this  might 
portend.  "  Wonder  if  he's  going  to  be  married  him 
self !"  he  thought,  gazing  at  him  suspiciously.  But  the 
depression  and  moodiness  on  Dangerfield's  face  belied  the 
surmise.  The  elevator  came  up,  and  in  it  was  Inga.  The 
moment  she  saw  the  two  standing  there,  an  expression 
of  great  alarm  came  into  her  face. 

"What  —  you  are  going  out!"  she  stammered,  look 
ing  from  one  to  the  other.  "  It  is  for  this  afternoon, 
then?" 

Dangerfield  nodded,  and  something  like  a  triumphant 
sneer,  brutal  and  vindictive,  quite  foreign  to  his  usual 
moods,  appeared  about  his  mouth. 

"  This  afternoon,  as  I  said!  " 

'  You're  not  going  alone  ?  " 

"  No,  no ;  O'Leary's  with  me." 

The  alarm  which  had  seized  her  from  the  first  seemed 
suddenly  translated  into  another  terror  as  she  caught  him 
by  the  arm,  saying, 

"  One  word  —  just  one  word  first." 

While  O'Leary  and  Sassafras  stood  waiting,  ill  at  ease, 
she  drew  him  over  the  hooded  bridge  which  connected  the 
two  wings  of  the  Arcade. 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  201 

"  Mr.  Dan,"  she  said  breathlessly,  clasping  her  hands, 
"  you' 11  come  back  ?  " 

"  Why,  of  course,  of  course,"  he  said  nervously,  not 
meeting  her  eyes. 

"  You'll  come  back  —  you  promised,"  she  said,  and  as 
she  put  her  head  down  and  swayed  against  him,  he  felt 
her  body  trembling.  They  were  hidden  by  the  bend  of 
the  hooded  passage,  alone  in  the  filtered  light  that  strug 
gled  up  the  gloomy  halls. 

"  Inga  —  Inga  —  don't  make  it  harder  for  me,"  he 
said  bitterly. 

"  You'll  come  back,"  she  repeated,  desperately  clinging 
to  him,  her  face  upraised,  her  eyes  searching  his  in  terror. 
"  Say  it;  promise  it!  " 

"I  —  perhaps  — "  His  hand  closed  over  her  fingers 
with  the  nervous  tension  that  these  last  days  of  abstinence 
had  brought  him. 

"  Mr.  Dan,  you  must  not  think  you're  alone  —  you 
mustn't  say  no  one  cares !  "  She  slipped  her  arms  about 
his  neck,  and  he  felt  her  breast  shaken  with  the  heave  of 
agitated  breaths.  "If  anything  —  anything  —  hap 
pened — "  She  shook  her  head  and  stopped,  unable  to 
finish. 

"  Happen  —  what  do  you  think  —  why  is  that  idea  in 
your  head  ?  "  he  said,  holding  her  from  him. 

She  put  her  handkerchief  hastily  to  her  eyes  and  threw 
her  head  back  suddenly,  so  that  her  look  seemed  to  pene 
trate  through  his  mask  and  search  into  his  soul. 

He  repeated  his  question,  but  this  time  uneasily,  con 
scious  of  the  scrutiny  under  which  she  held  him. 

"  Nothing,"  she  said  abruptly.  In  a  moment  she  was 
back  into  the  restraint  of  her  usual  self.  "  Then  you  will 
come  back  here  —  to  me,"  she  said  slowly,  "  to-night.  It 
makes  no  difference  to  me  —  understand  that  —  in  what 
condition  you  are.  I'll  be  waiting." 


202  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

He  looked  at  her,  rather  startled  by  this,  then  pro 
foundly  touched,  and  his  face  showed  the  emotion  she  had 
aroused  in  him  for  he  turned  hastily  away,  saying: 

"  As  you  wish,  then  —  and  it's  a  promise." 

They  came  back  to  the  elevator  hurriedly,  each  plainly 
upset,  and  separated  with  a  brief  nod.  The  mood  into 
which  Inga  had  thrown  him  possessed  him  long  after 
they  had  taken  a  taxi  and  started  across  the  park,  for  he 
leaned  forward,  seemingly  oblivious  to  the  presence  of 
company,  and  frowned  down  on  the  strongly  clasped 
hands  which,  from  time  to  time,  were  pressed  against  his 
teeth  in  strained,  convulsive  gestures.  O'Leary,  who 
watched  him  in  growing  perplexity,  decided  to  break  the 
silence. 

"If  there's  anything  you  want  of  me  particularly,  Dan- 
gerfield,  you'd  better  tell  me." 

"What?  Oh,  yes!"  Danger-field  came  back  to  his 
seat  with  a  start,  ran  his  hand  over  his  forehead,  and  said 
apologetically, 

"  O'Leary,  I  owe  you  my  apologies !  " 

"Oh,  that's  all  right!" 

"  I  owe  you  more  than  that,"  he  said,  with  one  of  his 
sudden  smiles  which  had  the  effect  of  charming  away  all 
resentment.  "  I  know  it ;  I'm  deeply  grateful.  If  I  don't 
tell  you  all  details  won't  you  understand  that  it's  because 
the  subject  is  too  painful?  " 

"  Don't  say  a  word,  then,"  said  O'Leary. 

"  Besides  —  to-morrow  —  when  the  papers  get  hold  of 
it  — "  He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  Will  it  suffice  you 
to  kno\v  that  I  have  asked  you  to  assist  at  a  wedding,  a 
wedding  for  which  I  am  peculiarly  responsible  ?  "  The 
tones  became  cold  and  implacable.  "  In  fact,  you  have 
met  the  lady  before  —  as  you  perhaps  have  guessed,  she  is 
my  former  wife.  There  are  circumstances  which  make 
it  desirable  for  all  parties  to  avoid  as  much  publicity  as 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  203 

possible.  That's  why  it's  being  solemnized  at  the  place 
we  are  going."  He  leaned  forward  and  rapped  on  the 
window,  signaling  the  driver  to  stop.  "  We'll  get  out 
here." 

The  taxi  drew  up  in  a  side  street  at  his  orders.  Up 
the  avenue  in  that  thronged  district  of  the  slums  of 
the  upper  city  which  lies  on  the  beginnings  of  Harlem, 
O'Leary  perceived  the  tower  of  a  church. 

Dangerfield's  moodiness  had  closed  over  him  again. 
At  a  gesture  of  his,  O'Leary  followed  him  into  the  vesti 
bule.  Knowing  what  he  had  been  able  to  patch  together, 
he  could  faintly  divine  the  storm  of  emotion  which  swept 
his  companion  as  the  door  closed  behind  them  and  they 
entered  the  dimness  of  the  chapel.  There  were  a  bare 
half-dozen  persons  —  the  minister,  the  couple  standing 
before  him  by  the  pulpit,  the  whole  far  enough  away  to 
be  unrecognizable;  yet  at  the  sudden  letting-in  of  the 
noises  of  the  street,  each  turned  with  a  start.  It  was  as 
though  each  had  divined  who  the  new  arrival  must  be. 

Dangerfield  acknowledged  the  recognition  with  a  short 
forward  bending  of  his  head,  but,  instead  of  taking  a  seat, 
he  remained  standing  by  a  pillar,  arms  folded,  immovable ; 
nor  in  the  obscurity  was  it  possible  for  his  companion  to 
judge  what  emotion  predominated.  The  sounds  of  the 
minister's  voice  came  to  them  in  regular  cadences  until  the 
decisive  words,  "  I  therefore  pronounce  you  man  and 
wife." 

At  this,  O'Leary,  with  his  eyes  still  on  Dangerfield, 
saw  the  arms  relax  and  the  head  thrown  back  as  though 
a  weight  had  slipped  from  the  shoulders..  The  next  mo 
ment  his  companion  had  touched  him  on  the  arm  and  gone 
out,  saying: 

"That's  all  — come!" 

On  the  sidewalk,  Dangerfield  seemed  to  be  moving 
blindly,  for  he  stumbled  once  and  had  started  off  in  a 


204  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

direction  quite  different  from  the  corner  where  their 
taxi  was  waiting,  when  O'Leary  checked  him  on  the  arm, 
saying : 

"  That's  not  the  way,  man,  to  your  taxi." 

At  his  touch  Dangerfield  turned,  without  seeming  real 
ization  of  where  he  was. 

"What —  what  taxi?" 

"  The  taxi  we  came  in  that's  waiting,"  said  O'Leary 
impatiently,  "  or  shall  I  let  it  go?  " 

"  No,  no." 

They  retraced  their  steps,  but,  to  do  so,  they  were 
forced  to  pass  by  the  entrance  of  the  church  just  as  the 
wedding-party  was  emerging.  Dangerfield  stopped  with 
an  exclamation  and  drew  himself  up  stiffly,  while  the 
press  of  the  crowd  brought  them  momentarily  face  to 
face  with  the  bride  and  groom,  as  they  came  through  the 
fringe  of  spectators.  A  curious  pair  they  made  for  two 
who  had  just  come  from  the  altar.  Each  face  seemed 
dominated  by  a  sullen  fury,  and  O'Leary,  looking  at  them, 
mumbled  to  himself: 

"  'Deed  they  look  more  like  they  were  waiting  to  knife 
each  other  than  dreaming  of  wedded  bliss !  " 

When  they  perceived  Dangerfield,  the  man  started  back 
with  something  akin  to  fear  in  his  eyes,  while  the  woman, 
warned  by  his  movement,  looked  up  and,  meeting  the 
look  of  her  former  husband,  caught  her  breath.  For  a 
moment  the  black  rage  which  convulsed  her  face  shook 
her  so  that  she  seemed  on  the  point  of  breaking  all  re 
straint  and  turning  on  them.  But  at  this  dangerous  mo 
ment,  some  one  spoke  to  her  in  sharp  command,  seized 
her  arm  and  hurried  her  into  a  carriage.  O'Leary  rec 
ognized  Doctor  Fortier. 

A  moment  later,  the  whole  party  had  disappeared  down 
the  avenue,  leaving  Dangerfield  and  O'Leary  standing  in 
the  midst  of  a  group  of  urchins,  grocer-boys  and  nursery- 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  205 

maids,  who,  sensing  the  approach  of  a  tragic  coincident, 
were  staring  open-mouthed  at  the  shaggy,  bearlike  man 
who  continued  lost  in  his  reveries.  It  wasn't  until 
O'Leary  felt  impelled  to  recall  him  by  a  touch  on  his 
arm  that  Dangerfield  (to  keep  to  the  name  which  he  had 
voluntarily  assumed)  came  to  himself,  perceived  the 
growing  curiosity  of  the  throng  with  a  start,  brushed  them 
aside  with  an  angry  sweep  of  his  arms.  Half  an  hour 
later,  without  having  uttered  a  word,  he  deposited 
O'Leary  at  the  Arcade,  dismissed  the  car,  and  strode  away 
down  the  avenue,  before  his  companion,  taken  off  his 
guard,  had  thought  to  remind  him  of  his  promise  to  Inga. 

At  eleven  o'clock,  Dangerfield,  led  by  some  dramatic 
impulse,  returned  to  his  club,  from  which  he  had  exiled 
himself  for  months.  From  the  moment  that  the  old  tug 
ging,  feverish  thirst  for  oblivion  had  swept  him  from 
O'Leary  into  the  solitude  of  crowds  and  the  electric  heart 
of  the  city,  he  had  been  drinking  blindly,  impatiently, 
with  a  need  of  quieting  the  throbbing  nerves  which  were 
rapping  an  insistent  tattoo  against  his  brain.  A  dozen 
men  were  in  the  lounge  up-stairs,  old  friends,  who  started 
up  with  exclamations  of  surprise  at  seeing  the  familiar 
tousled  head  with  the  gray  lock  appearing  above  the 
stairs.  Quite  a  crowd  came  thronging  about  the  prodigal 
returned,  the  more  enthusiastic  in  that  they  had  never 
expected  to  lay  eyes  on  him  again.  He  stood  among  them 
outwardly  calm  and  smiling,  his  brain  fighting  off  the 
numbing,  confused  riot  that  raged  within  it.  Several, 
divining  his  condition,  stole  wondering,  apprehensive 
glances  at  him. 

He  was  installed  in  a  great  armchair  before  the  blazing 
logs  in  the  fireplace  in  the  light  and  warmth  of  familial- 
friendly  regions,  and,  as  he  put  out  his  hands  gratefully 
against  the  heat,  feeling  himself  surrounded  by  friends, 


206  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

it  seemed  to  him  that  he  was  a  prey  to  some  tantalizing 
hallucinations  of  happiness  that  must  vanish  at  a  waking 
start.  He  remained  deep  into  the  night,  drinking  stead 
ily,  striving  to  beat  down  the  iron  control  of  his  head, 
which  still  held  him  cruelly  to  the  realization  of  the  actual. 
One  by  one  the  old  friends  were  forced  to  leave,  going 
silently,  ominously  impressed  by  the  deliberate  intensity 
of  the  man,  the  wildness  in  his  eyes  and  the  sudden  fits  of 
moody  wandering.  At  two  o'clock,  all  sounds  had  grown 
dulled  and  pleasant  in  his  ears.  He  rose,  walked  into  the 
office  without  faltering,  exchanged  a  courteous  handshake 
with  a  friend  from  the  pool-table  and  asked  for  his  ac 
count,  discharged  it  in  full,  wrote  out  his  resignation,  and 
posted  it  to  the  board  of  directors.  As  he  started  to  leave 
he  found  himself  before  the  board  on  which  was  posted 
the  list  of  members  suspended  for  house-charges  or  non 
payment  of  dues.  All  at  once,  a  sentimental  idea  came 
to  him.  He  examined  the  list  carefully,  found  in  it  the 
names  of  four  men,  old  friends  in  straightened  circum 
stances,  and  carefully  wrote  down  the  sums  of  their  in 
debtedness. 

"  I  think  I  should  like  to  attend  to  these,"  he  said  po 
litely,  drawing  his  check-book. 

Then  he  thanked  the  clerk,  pocketed  the  receipts,  in 
sisted  on  buying  a  last  round  of  drinks  for  the  few  late 
stragglers  at  the  pool-tables,  who,  amazed,  watched  him 
depart  without  a  single  misstep.  When  he  had  received 
his  coat  and  hat,  he  slipped  a  bill  in  the  hand  of  Pedro, 
the  Argus  of  the  club. 

"  'Gainst  the  rules,"  he  said,  in  a  whisper,  "  but  not 
ordinary  case.  Wish  you  luck,  Pedro !  " 

On  the  long,  bleak  way  to  the  Arcade,  he  stopped  at  a 
drug  store  on  Seventh  Avenue,  whispered  a  moment  to 
a  clerk  in  the  shadows  of  the  back  counter,  received  a 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  207 

small  bottle,  and  as  he  examined  it  nodded  with  satisfac 
tion,  and  went  out.  He  entered  the  Arcade  and  stood  a 
moment  in  its  deserted,  oppressive  silence,  staring  at  the 
dim  interiors  of  shops  that  showed  like  pale  catacombs 
on  either  side,  and  all  at  once  broke  out  into  a  short,  bit 
ter  laugh,  as  though  this  end  of  all  had  struck  him  as  the 
most  incongruous  thing  in  his  fantastic  life.  He  did 
not  wake  up  Sassafras,  but  went  up  the  long  six  flights 
slowly,  sitting  down  from  time  to  time  and  talking  to 
himself,  his  head  in  his  hands.  The  corridor  was  deathly 
quiet  and  dim,  and  the  one  struggling,  bending  blue  flame 
in  the  gas-jet  before  his  room  seemed  to  him  a  beacon 
in  far-off  regions  as  he  groped  his  way  to  it.  The  door 
was  unlocked  —  the  room  faintly  reflecting  outlines  in 
queer  distorted  shadows.  He  sat  down  and  stared  sol 
emnly  about  him.  Then  he  rose,  fumbled  a  moment,  and 
found  the  button.  The  lights  flashed  across  the  room. 
At  the  table,  asleep,  her  body  sunk  into  weariness  of  long 
vigilance,  was  Inga  Sonderson.  At  the  same  moment  she 
moved,  saw  him,  and  started  up  with  a  cry  of  relief, 
which  she  checked  with  a  clutching  of  her  hand  at  her 
throat.  The  next  moment  she  came  swiftly  over  to  him, 
all  surprise  banished  from  her  face,  quick  and  matter  of 
fact,  saying: 

"  Slip  out  of  your  coat.     I'll  take  it." 

He  backed  away,  rebelling  at  her  presence  and  the  will 
which  was  there  to  oppose  his.  All  at  once  he  remem 
bered  his  promise,  and  a  cunning  loophole  dawned  in  his 
foggy  brain. 

"  Came  back  as  I  promised,"  he  said  solemnly,  folding 
his  arms  in  antagonism.  "  All  right  now,  going  out 
again." 

Instinctively  he  comprehended  the  persistent  opposition 
that  lay  in  the  slender  body  facing  him,  and  sought  to 
escape  it.  To  his  surprise,  she  did  not  object,  but  after 


208  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

a  moment's  thought  nodded  and  went  toward  her  room. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do?  "  he  said  roughly. 

"  I'm  going  with  you,"  she  said. 

He  laughed  incredulously.  The  next  moment  she  was 
back,  enveloped  in  coat  and  muffler. 

"  You're  going,"  he  said  frowning,  "  now  ?  " 

"  Whenever  you  wish,"  she  said,  her  dark  eyes  steadily 
on  him,  without  reproach  or  criticism. 

"  We'll  see,"  he  said,  resentfully,  and  he  started  down 
the  hall.  Without  a  word  she  followed  at  his  side. 


XXI 

THE  name  of  Daniel  Garford  had  figured  on  many  oc 
casions  in  the  scare-heads  of  the  Metropolitan  press,  not 
only  on  account  of  the  eccentricities  of  genius  and  the 
wildness  of  his  youth,  but  from  the  fact  that  the  name  of 
Garford  had  been  a  social  beacon  for  generations.  Even 
before  the  Mexican  War  there  had  been  a  Garford  who 
had  sat  in  the  Cabinet  as  Secretary  of  State,  and  from  that 
time  on,  the  family  had  progressed  in  power  and  wealth, 
a  proud,  intensely  ambitious,  self-willed,  and  dominating 
line  of  men,  who,  whatever  their  faults,  were  never  ac 
cused  of  idleness.  There  was  a  restless,  mental  energy 
about  these  men  which  had  driven  them  to  the  front,  while 
the  strength  of  the  old  Garford  strain  continued  to  show 
in  their  impatience  of  forms  and  traditions,  their  ability  to 
originate  and  discover,  and  especially  in  their  distinguish 
ing  trait  of  never  being  satisfied  with  success. 

The  Honorable  Benjamin  Garford,  Daniel's  uncle, 
whom  he  resembled,  according  to  the  incomprehensible 
vagaries  of  heredity  in  form  and  temperament,  had  been 
a  clear  example  of  this  boundless  craze  for  real  achieve 
ment.  Though  possessed  of  an  ample  fortune,  he  had, 
from  his  youth,  devoted  himself  to  scientific  research  and 
discussion.  One  of  the  most  distinguished  scholars  of  his 
day,  honored  by  numerous  European  scientific  bodies  for 
discoveries  in  the  field  of  electrical  energy,  his  text-books 
accepted  as  standards,  twice  minister  to  St.  Petersburg, 
and  once  to  Paris,  he  summed  up  his  life  in  one  little 
phrase :  "  I  die  a  disappointed  man."  This  remark,  in- 


210  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

comprehensible  to  the  multitude,  should  be  retained  as  the 
key  to  Daniel's  character  —  the  passionate  pursuit  of  an 
ideal  linked  to  an  inevitable  moment  of  self -appraisement 
and  disillusion. 

His  life  had  been  enveloped  in  storm,  a  whirling,  breath 
less  existence,  with  strange  reversals  of  fortune,  never 
quiet,  nor  long  continuing  along  obvious  lines.  The  qual 
ity  of  genius  had  always  been  in  him  from  the  lonely, 
tragic  days  of  his  boyhood,  but  a  disordered,  tormented 
genius  which  had  made  him  the  sport  of  accidental  influ 
ences.  Dudley  Garford,  his  father,  in  a  moment  of  in 
tense  infatuation  in  his  early  twenties,  had  eloped  with 
and  married  a  beautiful  Italian  girl  of  distinguished  par 
entage  whom  he  had  met  in  his  travels,  and  this  mixture 
of  the  virility  of  the  Garfords  with  the  warmth  and  color 
of  the  South  had  made  a  genius  of  the  boy.  To  this  for 
tuitous  mingling  of  rich  strains  was  added  the  awakening 
touch  of  early  sorrow  and  a  precocious  comprehension  of 
tragedy.  What  father  and  mother  had  consummated  in 
a  burst  of  wildness,  they  lived  to  destroy  in  bitterness. 
From  the  earliest  years  of  their  marriage,  violent  quarrels 
had  broken  out,  due  at  first  to  the  unreasoning  espionage 
of  passionate  jealousy  to  which  the  wife  subjected  the  hus 
band,  and,  later,  inevitably  to  a  succession  of  rapid,  vola 
tile  attachments  into  which  the  husband  had  been  driven, 
first,  by  her  intolerance,  and  second,  by  the  brilliant  plea 
sure-loving  qualities  of  his  own  forceful  personality. 

Daniel  and  his  sister  Theresa  grew  up  in  this  unruly 
household,  wide-eyed,  wondering  spectators  of  daily 
storms,  culminating  in  one  tragic  evening  when  the 
mother,  face  to  face  at  last  with  the  acknowledged  proofs 
of  her  husband's  infidelity,  had  abandoned  herself  to  such 
a  tempest  of  blind  rage  that  the  two  children,  cowering 
against  the  wall,  too  frightened  to  do  aught  but  to  cling  to 
each  other,  were  forced  to  witness  the  frantic  struggle  of 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  211 

their  father  with  the  mother  who,  in  her  hysteria,  was 
bent  on  self-destruction.  The  scene  (it  had  taken  place 
in  the  nursery)  remained  in  the  boy's  mind  with  the  start 
ling  horror  of  a  nightmare  —  the  childish  toys  scattered 
on  the  floor,  the  words  of  hatred  and  anger  which  struck 
them  cold,  the  frightful  distortion  on  the  face  of  their 
mother,  the  struggle  for  the  possession  of  the  knife,  and 
then  her  exhaustion,  the  low  moaning  broken  by  hysterical 
gasps  for  breath.  Then,  weeks  later  had  come  the  part 
ing  which  he  did  not  understand  in  the  least,  for  which  he 
could  find  no  childish  reason.  The  little  sister  and  the 
stately,  resplendent  mother  had  gone  out  of  his  life,  and 
loneliness  and  silence  had  crept  through  the  great  house. 

The  boy  grew  up  in  this  abandonment,  brooding  over 
memories,  his  imagination  precociously  awakened,  forced 
into  a  searching  of  himself;  self-sufficient,  wandering  into 
long  explorations  of  the  realms  of  the  fantastic,  telling 
himself  stories  at  night,  the  despair  and  terror  of  a  suc 
cession  of  tutors.  What  he  saw  and  dimly  comprehended 
during  this  period  was  a  curious  awakening  to  the  conflict 
of  the  greed  and  passions  of  the  later  world.  Many  a 
night,  unsuspected,  he  had  stolen  from  his  bed  and  secreted 
himself  in  the  little  balcony  that  looked  down  on  the 
great  drawing-room,  gazing  down  with  a  puzzled  wonder 
on  the  tempestuous  scenes  of  revel  and  license  which  hid 
the  darker  side  of  Dudley  Garford's  mercurial,  trium 
phant  public  career.  He  saw  his  father  with  critical  eyes, 
with  an  unhealthy  knowledge  beyond  the  weight  of 'his 
years,  and  this  hidden  critical  spectatorship  made  life  seem 
to  him  like  some  whirling  theatric  danse  macabre  of  rio 
tous  emotions  and  vibrant  colors. 

Already,  the  exotic  multiplied  sensations  had  become 
translated  into  the  bent  of  his  imagination.  He  had  be 
gun  to  model  in  clay,  untaught,  following  queer  fancies ; 
struggling  to  the  use  of  childish  paints,  understanding 


212  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

nothing  of  mediums  but  delighting  his  eyes  with  odd 
blending  and  contrasts  of  colors,  violent  and  barbaric  in 
his  instincts. 

One  night,  in  the  weariness  of  his  watching,  he  fell 
asleep  in  the  balcony,  was  discovered,  and  the  next  week 
was  bundled  off  to  boarding  school. 

His  career  at  school  was  cut  abruptly  at  the  age  of  six 
teen  by  the  discovery  of  his  infatuation  for  the  daughter 
of  one  of  his  teachers,  a  woman  many  years  his  senior 
with  whom  he  had  fallen  violently,  desperately  in  love, 
with  all  the  unreason  and  blind  adoration  of  a  first  pas 
sion.  Brilliant,  unruly,  proud,  delicate  in  health,  and  too 
absorbed  in  reading  and  the  pursuit  of  his  beloved  paint 
ing,  he  had  still  about  him  a  certain  illuminating  mag 
netism,  a  faith  in  his  future,  a  trick  of  saying  things  others 
would  never  have  said,  of  thinking  strange  thoughts  that 
had  even  reached  to  the  heart  of  the  woman.  To  do  her 
justice,  she  had  never  thought  for  a  moment  of  taking 
advantage  of  the  boy's  infatuation;  yet  the  parting  was 
difficult,  and  she  herself  suffered  more  than  she  showed, 

For  two  years  he  was  consigned  to  a  ranch,  to  live  in 
the  open  air,  to  harden  to  the  weather  and  grow  in  muscle 
and  sturdiness,  roaming  the  great  stretches,  sleeping  in  the 
open,  discovering  that  beyond  the  stone  walls  of  the  city, 
such  miracles  exist  as  the  turning  of  the  dawn,  the  riotous 
coming  of  the  sun,  the  trackless  map  of  stars,  the  restless 
stealing-in  of  the  spring  and  the  haunting  majesty  of  the 
turning  leaves.  All  these  sensations  sunk  deep  into  his 
fertile  imagination.  An  artist  exiled  in  the  fight  for 
health  gave  him  the  first  lessons,  and  put  him  through  the 
hard  grind  of  mechanical  preparation.  From  the  first  he 
showred  qualities  which  were  to  persist  in  his  later  work, 
an  impatience  with  deliberate  building  and  an  impulse  to 
ward  the  dramatic  interpretation  of  the  instincts.  His 
sketches  were  full  of  technical  faults,  and  yet  almost  all 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  213 

held  a  certain  charm,  something  quite  out  of  the  ordinary. 
From  this  serene  calm  of  the  open  plain  and  a  life  of 
simple  moods,  he  was  suddenly  transplanted  to  college  in 
the  midst  of  a  fast  New  York  set,  with  possession  of  an 
allowance  which  was  quite  sufficient  to  send  him  headlong 
to  his  own  destruction.  The  tendency  to  violent  extremes 
which  was  instinctive  in  his  character  made  him  speedily 
the  ring-leader  in  the  company  of  those  who  burned  the 
midnight  oil  —  but  not  in  the  pursuit  of  knowledge.  In 
six  months  Daniel  had  been  twice  warned  by  the  faculty 
and  had  managed  to  run  through  the  year's  allowance. 
He  applied  for  further  funds  to  his  father,  who  laughecj 
and  acceded,  rather  pleased,  in  his  worldly  way,  that  his 
son  was  sowing  his  wild  oats  in  princely  fashion.  In  his 
second  year,  his  disordered  existence  had  become  so  no 
torious  that,  after  a  certain  episode  which  had  figured 
prominently  in  the  newspapers,  wherein  he  had  driven  a 
coach  over  the  front  lawns  of  suburban  Boston  in  the  wee 
hours  of  the  morning,  he  was  summarily  called  before  the 
faculty  and  given  an  opportunity  to  resign.  On  top  of 
which  came  a  telegram  from  New  York  summoning  him 
to  his  father's  death-bed. 

A  certain  mystery  surrounded  the  death  of  Dudley  Gar- 
ford,  which  was  officially  given  out  as  the  result  of  an  ag 
gravated  case  of  appendicitis.  It  was  whispered  that  he 
had  come  by  a  violent  death,  having  been  shot  through  the 
lungs  by  an  outraged  husband.  Certainly  the  habits  of 
his  later  life  would  not  have  made  such  a  result  an  im 
probability. 

Daniel  had  never  known  his  father,  conscious  always  in 
the  rare  moments  of  their  intercourse  of  an  insuperable 
barrier  which  lay  between  them  in  the  memories  of  his 
boyhood.  In  the  last  months,  they  had  even  come  to  the 
verge  of  an  open  quarrel,  when  the  father  had  discovered 
the  strength  of  the  son's  artistic  inclinations  and  had  vio- 


214  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

lently  forbidden  him  a  career  which  he  looked  upon  with 
contempt. 

Daniel  now  found  himself  his  own  master,  with  every 
avenue  opened  to  his  wish.  He  went  to  Paris.  His 
mother,  after  the  early  death  of  his  sister,  had  remarried 
and  become  the  Duchesse  de  Senbach.  Into  this  curious 
intermingling  of  international  society  which  flaunts  its 
vanities  and  worn  passions,  he  entered  w7ith  all  the  ardor 
of  a  healthy  body  and  a  lively  imagination,  still  genuinely 
blinded  with  illusions.  The  artist  in  him,  which  divides 
life  into  sensations,  again  brought  him  into  notoriety. 
He  gave  dinners  as  a  grand  duke  might  give ;  he  lived  in 
apartments  with  a  retinue  of  servants,  the  cost  of  which 
was  faithfully  chronicled  in  the  colored  Sunday  editions 
of  his  home  papers  with  printed  references  to  the  rake's 
progress.  He  was  surrounded  by  a  crowd  of  sycophants, 
shoddy  race-track  majors,  princes  down  at  the  heels,  and 
Balkan  aristocrats  of  the  gaming-tables,  who  fattened  on 
his  prodigality  and  led  him  into  fresh  excesses.  He  fell 
violently  in  love  with  a  favorite  of  the  Cafe  Chant  ants, 
Nina  de  Mauban,  believed  in  her  devotion  to  him,  con 
ceived  the  quixotic  idea  of  lifting  her  out  of  the  muddied 
existence  she  led  and  even  announced  their  engagement. 

The  existence  he  had  been  living  would  have  inevitably 
ruined  him,  when  a  new  turn  arrived  with  the  panic  of 
'93.  In  a  fortnight,  as  a  result  of  the  treachery  of  an  ex 
ecutor,  he  found  himself  bankrupt.  The  news  made  a 
sensation  here  and  abroad.  The  army  of  friends  melted 
away.  Creditors  descended  on  him  and  drove  him  from 
his  palace,  and  the  woman  he  had  adored  departed  over 
night  in  the  company  of  a  Swedish  count.  When  the 
news  was  brought  to  him,  he  began  by  flying  into  a  parox 
ysm  of  despair  and  ended  by  bursting  into  laughter.  The 
next  day,  with  the  best  of  good  humor,  he  packed  up  his 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  215 

effects  and  moved  over  into  a  studio  in  the  Rue  d'Assas  off 
the  Luxembourg  Gardens.  His  mother  gave  him  an  al 
lowance  of  one  hundred  dollars  a  month,  which,  in  his 
new  surroundings,  was  a  fortune.  In  a  month  he  had 
found  his  happiness  in  a  life  of  work  among  these  demo 
crats  of  the  soul. 

If  he  did  not  at  once  forget  the  woman,  the  memory  of 
his  existence  of  luxury  never  returned  to  embitter  him. 
For  years  he  lived  with  his  comrades  of  the  atelier,  adopt 
ing  their  flowing  dress  and  easy  customs,  a  leader  in  their 
revelries,  but  a  madman  for  work,  as  completely  divorced 
from  his  past  existence  as  though  he  had  died  and  been 
born  again.  The  two  experiences  as  a  boy  and  as  a  man 
had  left  him  distrustful  of  women  or,  at  least,  recoiling 
before  the  intense  outpouring  of  emotion  which  love 
meant  to  him.  During  this  long  student  period,  no 
woman  touched  his  heart  beyond  a  womanly  sympathy. 
In  fact,  his  attitude  was  the  occasion  of  numerous  jests 
among  the  more  catholicly  inclined,  while  those  of  more 
romantic  persuasion  did  him  the  honor  to  ascribe  it  to  the 
tragedy  of  a  " grande  passion"  His  studio,  which  was 
magnificent  for  the  quarter,  became  the  refuge  of  the 
whole  tribe  of  models  and  others  whose  living  was  even 
more  precarious.  At  any  hour  of  the  day  and  night,  they 
arrived  for  a  bit  of  food,  a  night's  shelter,  or  to  give  him 
their  tragic  confidence,  and  these  flitting  children  of  the 
sidewalks,  cynical,  hardened,  and  sly  in  their  dealings  with 
other  men,  w7ould  melt  into  tears  or  burst  into  angry 
tirades  against  the  injustice  of  established  order,  sitting 
alone  with  him  into  the  long  night.  They  taught  him 
much  of  their  dreadful  vision  of  mankind  and  suffering  in 
such  hours  of  confession,  which  he  would  never  have 
known  had  he  approached  them  differently.  At  the  bot 
tom,  pity  was  too  deep  in  his  soul  to  have  permitted  any 
other  sentiment.  All  adored  him  and  one,  Pepita,  a  little 


216  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

Spanish  model,  loved  him  with  the  love  of  a  dog  for  its 
master.  For  his  part,  he  took  no  credit  for  this  open 
charity.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  it  was  a  privileged  glance 
into  a  hidden  life,  that  interested  him  intensely,  that 
roused  in  him  long  periods  of  meditation  and  revolt,  that 
was  as  much  a  part  of  the  architectural  structure  of  his 
artistic  conscience,  as  his  boyhood,  his  life  on  the  prairies, 
his  wildness  at  college,  or  his  rapid  plunge  through  the 
dissipations  of  the  brilliant  world.  He  became  known  not 
only  as  an  artist  of  bold  and  daring  originality,  but  as  a 
man  who  thought  and  reasoned. 

In  his  third  year,  an  event  came  which  occasioned  a  new 
outburst  of  public  curiosity.  An  aunt  died  and  left  him  a 
legacy  of  fifty  thousand  dollars.  He  reappeared  in  so 
ciety  in  a  brilliant  renaissance,  took  up  his  old  habits,  just 
as  though  nothing  had  happened ;  reassembled  the  former 
acquaintances,  gave  dinners  and  balls,  and  won  enormous 
sums  at  baccarat.  This  lasted  for  almost  two  months,  at 
the  end  of  which  a  streak  of  luck  set  in  against  him  and  he 
found  himself  again  bankrupt.  Seven  weeks  after  his  de 
parture  from  the  studio  of  the  Rue  d'Assas,  he  returned 
penniless  but  happy,  and  announced : 

"  Now,  if  no  more  aunts  die,  I  shall  become  an  artist." 
His  return  was  made  a  gala  night;  the  quarter  packed 
in  to  hear  his  adventures,  and,  in  the  end,  the  renegade  was 
received  back  into  the  sacred  enclosure,  while  his  dress 
clothes  and  the  offending  hat  were  burned  with  imposing 
ceremonies. 

When  the  death  of  his  mother  brought  him  a  fortune, 
he  remained  true  to  his  oath  and  the  left  bank  of  the  Seine. 
By  this  time  he  had  won  his  medals  in  the  Salon  and  had 
achieved  the  honor  of  a  private  exhibition  of  water-colors 
which  he  had  brought  back  from  Algeria  and  the  East. 
There  were  some  critics  who  complained  of  the  theatric 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  217 

quality  of  his  art,  but  all  conceded  the  individuality  and 
the  boldness  of  his  new  conceptions.  His  sudden  spring 
into  fame  was  as  instantaneous  as  all  the  other  phases  of 
his  existence.  Everything  seemed  to  open  ahead  of  him 
for  a  long  and  brilliant  career  of  highest  achievement, 
when  fate,  which  had  played  him  a  dozen  queer  turns, 
returned  to  intrude  once  more  into  his  existence. 

He  was  motoring  along  the  Riviera,  on  a  trip  he  had 
long  planned  to  Venice  and  the  galleries  of  Florence, 
when,  as  his  car  swerved  out  and  around  a  jutting  corner 
of  rock,  a  sudden  gust  of  wind  caught  his  hat  and  whirled 
it  into  the  lap  of  a  young  woman  who  was  passing  in  a 
phaeton.  This  gust  of  wind  decided  his  whole  life.  He 
fell  in  love  with  her  at  the  first  sight  of  her  wistful  Ma- 
donnalike  face  and  trusting  eyes,  that  strangely  enough 
reminded  him  of  the  idealized  vision  of  his  boyhood.  She 
was  a  divorcee,  scarcely  twenty-one,  from  the  South,  who 
had  resumed  her  maiden  name,  Louise  Fortier.  He  knew 
absolutely  nothing  about  her  except  the  story  she  told  of 
childish  innocence  and  the  whims  of  a  selfish  libertine. 
Two  weeks  later,  they  returned  to  Paris,  engaged.  He 
had  thrown  himself  into  this  new  experience  without  the 
slightest  distrust,  with  the  rapturous  idolatry  of  the  boy 
he  was.  He  would  not  have  permitted  her  to  be  discussed 
even  by  his  most  intimate  friends,  though,  in  fact,  several 
made  hints  which  he  was  too  blind  to  perceive.  They 
were  married  a  month  later.  One  painful  incident  oc 
curred.  Pepita,  the  little  Spanish  model  who  had  been 
devoted  to  him  for  years,  attempted  to  take  her  life  by 
swallowing  poison,  and  though  her  act  was  detected  in 
time  to  save  her,  the  occurrence  cast  a  shadow  over  the 
wedding. 

During  the  first  months,  he  found  himself  incompre 
hensibly,  riotously  happy.  He  was  charmed  and  bewil 
dered  by  his  wife.  They  made  a  romantic  trip  through 


218  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

Italy  and  into  the  East,  during  which  she  assumed  subtly 
a  great  influence  over  his  moods  and  ambitions.  When 
they  returned  to  Paris,  he  was  more  in  love  than  ever; 
only,  there  was  one  thing  which  had  gone  completely  out 
of  his  day,  of  which  he  never  thought  —  his  work.  Their 
coming  to  New  York  was  her  suggestion.  The  return 
home  was  a  triumph  for  him.  For  the  first  time,  he  tasted 
the  completeness  of  personal  success.  His  friends  of  the 
quarter  who  had  returned  before  him  hailed  him  as  a 
leader.  He  became  a  personality;  his  eccentricities  of 
speech  and  thought,  the  dramatic  wildness,  even,  of  his 
past  life  were  now  registered  in  his  favor.  He  took  a 
studio  and  began  to  work,  and  success  continued  his. 
Yet,  at  the  bottom,  he  became  conscious  of  a  growing  rest 
lessness,  of  an  inability  to  enjoy  what  he  had  won. 

Gradually,  the  obsession  which  had  clouded  his  vision 
began  to  lift  from  his  eyes.  He  saw  her  as  she  was,  this 
woman  to  whom  he  had  chosen  to  fasten  the  chains  of  his 
existence.  He  was  proud  of  her,  of  her  charm,  of  the 
magnetism  she  exerted  over  other  men,  of  the  admiration 
she  evoked  in  the  brilliant  formal  society  into  which  she 
had  led  him,  but  he  perceived  at  last  that  she  neither  under 
stood  what  he  was  working  for  nor  was  able  to  assist  him 
in  the  least.  He  found  himself  divided  against  himself, 
as  it  were,  leading  two  opposite  lives. 

He  began  to  ask  himself  questions.  He  said  to  himself 
that  he  was  famous  and  envied,  that  everything  he  did  suc 
ceeded,  and  that  yet  he  was  not  happy.  He  sought  in 
himself  some  explanation.  He  recalled  two  sayings,  one 
that  of  his  uncle  who,  at  the  end  of  a  life  heaped  with 
honors,  could  say:  "  I  die  a  disappointed  man,"  and  the 
remark  of  his  old  professor :  "  In  art,  the  critical  age  is 
forty,  up  to  then  one  can  promise,  after  then  one  must 
achieve."  He  began  to  feel  this  crisis  in  his  life,  to  ask 
himself  whether  he  had  in  him  the  strength  to  revolt  or 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  219 

whether  he  would  renounce  the  ambitious  flights  of  his 
old  ideals  in  the  easy  satisfaction  of  what  the  public  called 
success.  For  he  perceived  clearly  that  the  fault  lay  in 
him,  that  he  no  longer  lived  in  his  art,  that  he  served  two 
gods,  and  that  in  this  divided  allegiance  lay  the  death  of 
all  his  struggling  toward  true  greatness.  He  sought  to 
make  his  wife  understand  and  found  a  blank  incompre 
hension.  Then  he  tried  to  order  his  life  on  new  lines,  to 
divide  the  year  into  two  parts,  and  to  regain  in  solitary 
summers  on  unfrequented  islands  something  of  the  old 
enthusiastic  concentration. 

But  he  found  that  the  habits  of  home,  of  pleasant 
friends,  of  the  woman  who  held  him  by  mysterious  im 
pulses,  were  too  strong,  and  he  came  to  the  day  when  he 
understood  his  uncle,  and  said  to  himself: 

"  It  is  ended.  I  shall  not  do  what  I  want  to  do.  It  is 
beyond  me,  as  my  life  has  been  cast." 

A  profound  melancholy  came  over  him  and,  in  his  secret 
heart,  undivined  by  his  closest  friends  the  cancer  of  dis 
illusionment  began  to  grow.  His  eccentricities  increased. 
He  had  scenes  with  his  wife  in  which  he  burst  into  violent 
tirades  or  scornful  laughter  which  she  could  not  under 
stand.  Though  he  never  accused  her,  he  repeated  often 
bitterly  to  himself  that  his  career  was  a  sacrifice  to  the 
woman,  who  neither  appreciated  nor  perceived  the  sacri 
fice. 

During  these  years,  he  had  never,  for  an  instant,  enter 
tained  the  slightest  suspicion  of  his  wife.  He  gave  her 
absolute  faith.  His  theory  of  marriage  was  not  as  a 
reciprocal  tyranny  but  as  a  free  union.  He  did  not  claim 
any  right  over  her  actions  or  attempt  to  limit  her  interests 
in  other  men.  In  the  beginning  he  had  explained  himself 
at  length. 

"  If  the  day  ever  comes  when  you  find  that  you  love 
another  man,  come  to  me  and  tell  me,"  he  said.  "  I  shall 


220  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

not  stand  in  your  way,  no  matter  how  I  may  feel.  Mar 
riage  exists  only  so  long  as  it  is  voluntary  on  both  sides. 
All  I  demand  is  that  there  should  be  no  deceit,  that  each 
should  remember  the  dignity  of  the  other." 

"  If  you  say  that  you  don't  love  me!  "  she  said,  laugh 
ing,  but  a  little  anxious. 

"  You  are  wrong;  I  love  you  in  my  own  way." 

She  was  silent  quite  a  while,  watching  him. 

"  And  if  —  if  the  other  thing  should  happen/'  she  said, 
pretending  to  make  a  jest  of  it.  "  If  I  did  deceive  you, 
what  would  you  do  ?  " 

"Don't  joke  about  such  things,"  he  said,  frowning; 
"  I  am  serious,  Louise." 

Several  times,  as  though  to  tease  him,  she  came  back 
to  this  question,  but  each  time  peremptorily  he  refused  to 
discuss  it. 

He  was  not  jealous,  or,  rather,  he  held  jealousy  un 
worthy  of  him.  He  would  have  scorned  to  exercise  the 
slightest  supervision  over  his  wife's  actions.  On  one  oc 
casion,  when  he  had  taken  up  a  branch  telephone,  he  had 
cut  in  on  a  conversation  which  would  have  aroused  any 
one  but  a  man  as  blind  or  as  loyal  as  he  was.  He  had 
replaced  the  receiver.  He  would  have  been  ashamed  to 
listen,  and  even  referred  to  it  jestingly,  without  notice  of 
the  alarm  which  showed  in  her  eyes.  One  afternoon, 
coming  home  contrary  to  his  habit,  he  let  himself  into  his 
apartment  and  stopped  at  the  sound  of  voices  from  his 
wife's  salon.  He  listened  and  discovered,  without 
shadow  of  a  doubt,  that  the  man  with  whom  she  was 
arguing  was  her  lover. 


XXII 

THE  discovery  of  his  wife's  infidelity  was  so  swift,  so 
convincing,  so  utterly  unexpected  that  every  mental  func 
tion  seemed  to  stop.  Garford  stood  still,  a  long  moment, 
doing  absolutely  nothing.  Then  his  whole  body  was 
seized  with  a  confusing  fever ;  his  heart  seemed  to  swell 
within  him  and  to  leap  against  its  walls.  In  a  flash,  his 
head  cleared  as  though  swept  by  a  gust  of  wind.  He  felt 
a  tingling,  throbbing  sensation  throughout  his  body,  ac 
companying  this  abrupt  mental  clarity;  all  other  sounds 
without  him  ceased.  It  was  as  though  only  one  thing  ex 
isted,  something  which  echoed  through  his  brain  —  one 
question :  "  What  am  I  going  to  do?  " 

If  he  had  gone  in,  he  would  have  killed  them,  then  and 
there,  under  his  hands,  one  after  the  other,  blindly,  un- 
reasoningly,  in  brute  instinct,  without  knowing  just  what 
he  was  doing.  Only  a  door  stood  between  him  and  a 
crime.  At  this  moment,  the  bell  rang.  On  such  triviali 
ties  destinies  turn.  The  shrill,  piercing  sound  recalled 
him  to  the  outer  world.  He  was  able  to  add  to  the  ob 
sessing  question  in  the  hollow  of  his  consciousness  one 
other  thought :  "  Some  one  is  coming."  Registering 
two  perceptions,  he  became  again  a  reasoning  man.  He 
withdrew  softly,  mounted  to  the  mezzanine  floor  of  the 
apartment,  and  went  out. 

When  he  had,  in  some  measure,  recovered  control  over 
his  reason,  the  first  emotion  was  one  of  complete  stupe 
faction.  Why  had  she  done  this?  He  had  given  her 
everything.  He  had  given  her  even  the  sacrifice  of  his 


222  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

deepest  ambitions  without  ever  reproaching  her.  And  he 
had  been  rewarded  by  the  lowest  deceit. 

"Has  a  woman  no  gratitude?"  he  asked  himself,  in 
man's  eternal  miscomprehension  of  feminine  motives. 

This  was  the  one  thing  he  could  not  comprehend.  He 
could  not  forbid  her  loving  another.  This  was  something 
in  the  domain  of  the  instincts  which  might  conceivably 
happen.  But  he  had  a  right  to  demand  that  she  should 
not  strike  him  in  his  private  honor.  At  first,  no  other 
thought  came  to  him  than  that  his  wife  loved  the  man 
whose  voice  he  had  recognized.  That  she  could  have  been 
actuated  by  any  other  emotion  was  too  horrible  to  con 
template.  Yet  he  could  not  comprehend  the  choice. 

"  She  loves  him  —  Reggie  Bowden  —  Bowden,  of  all 
men !  How  is  it  possible  ?  "  he  kept  repeating  to  himself. 

Of  all  the  men  who  surrounded  her  and  paid  her  court, 
the  discovery  that  he  had  been  betrayed  for  young  Bow 
den  wounded  him  most.  For  Bowden  was  of  the  type  he 
particularly  detested,  a  trifler  in  all  things,  drifting 
through  life  on  a  family  name,  a  smiling  face  and  a  well- 
groomed  body,  social  jester  and  leader  of  cotillions,  a 
tyrant  of  the  ballroom.  That  this  man  could  be  preferred 
to  him  curiously  enough  humiliated  him  more  than  if  her 
choice  had  been  one  who  was  her  intellectual  equal.  The 
more  he  analyzed  the  situation,  the  more  a  tormenting 
doubt  returned.  A  hundred  trivial  incidents  of  the  past 
thronged  to  his  memory  with  a  new  significance  until  he 
felt  he  should  go  mad  unless  he  knew  the  truth. 

In  three  months,  it  lay  before  him  in  its  multiplied, 
shameful  detail  —  not  only  the  present  but  the  past,  the 
record  of  her  first  marriage  and  even  before.  He  went 
to  the  friends  who,  he  remembered,  had  dropped  vague 
hints  and  forced  from  them  what  they  knew  or  suspected. 
Then,  for  the  first  time,  it  flashed  over  how  his  name  had 
been  bandied  about,  a  thing  of  mockery  and  light  con- 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  223 

tempt,  even  to  the  point  that  he  might  have  been  held  cog 
nizant,  and  he  said  to  himself  in  dull  rage :  "  I  was 
wrong ;  I  should  have  killed  her  —  that  would  have  been 
my  justification." 

During  these  three  months  there  were  moments  when 
he  felt  himself  perilously  close  to  the  borders  of  his  sanity. 
Added  to  the  disillusion  and  melancholy  of  the  artist,  the 
blow  to  the  man  himself  had  been  so  crushing  and  so  pene 
trating  that  every  illusion  had  gone  as  completely  from  his 
mental  outlook  as  though,  at  a  stroke,  all  colors  had  been 
lifted  from  the  visible  world.  Only  one  thought  upheld 
him  —  the  idea  of  vengeance  and  the  cleansing  of  his 
name.  When  he  was  completely  satisfied  with  his  investi 
gations,  he  left  ostensibly  on  a  hunting-trip,  returned  to 
New  York  secretly,  and  advised  by  his  detectives,  came  to 
his  apartment-building  at  night. 

He  tried  the  door  with  his  latch-key  and  found  it 
barred.  He  mounted  to  the  mezzanine  floor,  tried  the 
door,  and  found  it  locked.  At  that  hour,  the  servants 
would  have  left  the  apartment.  He  descended,  had  him 
self  taken  up  by  the  service  elevator  and  entered  by  the 
kitchen.  He  knew  where  he  would  find  them.  On  the 
second  floor  was  a  little  salon  which  gave  into  his  wife's 
bedroom,  from  which  it  formed  the  only  exit.  They  had 
just  returned  from  the  opera ;  the  young  man's  coat  and 
hat  were  on  a  chair,  the  odor  of  a  cigar  in  the  corridors. 

Bowden  was  alone,  in  an  armchair  by  the  little  lamp, 
skimming  a  paper  while  waiting  for  Mrs.  Garford  to  re 
turn  from  her  bedroom.  All  at  once  a  sense  of  some 
thing  unusual  in  the  air  made  him  lower  his  paper  and 
glance  up.  At  his  side,  the  husband  was  standing.  He 
started  to  his  feet  with  a  smothered  exclamation,  but  a 
hand  restrained  him. 

"  Not  a  sound ;  I  want  to  give  her  a  surprise." 

There  was  a  smile  on  Garford's  lips  as  he  laid  his  finger 


224  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

across  them  in  warning,  but  this  smile  terrified  the  lover. 
He  felt  himself  trapped,  unable  to  warn  the  woman, 
forced  helplessly  to  await  the  moment  of  her  reentry  and 
the  shock  of  her  surprise.  He  did  not  make  a  sound  be 
cause  he  still  hoped  and  because  he  was  a  coward.  The 
two  men  remained  thus  a  full  five  minutes,  without  mov 
ing,  awaiting  her  return.  All  at  once,  from  the  further 
room,  a  light  voice  began  to  hum  an  aria  of  the  evening, 
broke  off,  and  called  out: 

"  Getting  impatient  ?" 

At  these  words,  Bowden  felt  the  blood  running  out  of 
his  veins.  Then  there  came  the  rustle  of  a  dress  and 
Louise,  in  an  Oriental  negligee  of  gold,  blended  with 
greens  and  reds,  came  lightly  to  the  door. 

Garford  had  placed  himself  so  that  he  could  observe 
Bowden's  actions  in  the  reflection  of  a  mirror,  while  turn 
ing  his  back  to  him.  The  young  man's  hand  went  up  in 
frantic  warning. 

At  the  sight  of  her  husband,  she  stood  transfixed,  un 
able  to  move  or  utter  a  sound,  and  the  color  went  out  of 
her  face  so  abruptly  that  the  dabs  of  rouge  on  her  cheeks 
stood  hideously  out. 

"  Quite  a  surprise,  isn't  it?  "  Garford  said  with  a  laugh. 

She  murmured  something  inaudible. 

"What!     You  don't  kiss  me?" 

She  looked  at  him  a  moment,  looked  at  Bowden,  and 
came  slowly  across  the  yellow  Chinese  rug,  a  long  moment 
when  she  felt  her  knees  sagging  under  her. 

"  He  knows!  "  she  said  to  herself.  "  Will  he  strangle 
me?" 

And  she  reached  him  and  offered  up  her  cold  lips.  He 
kissed  them.  At  the  moment  his  arms  touched  her  she 
could  not  repress  a  shudder. 

"  What's  the  matter?  "  he  said,  looking  at  her. 

"  You  frightened  me,"  she  said,  in  a  whisper,  her  hand 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  225 

to  her  heart,  for  the  test  had  been  almost  beyond  her 
strength. 

"  What !     I  frightened  you  ?  " 

"  You  know  sudden  surprises  affect  me  like  this,"  she 
said,  trying  to  recover  her  wits. 

"  You  don't  ask  me  why  I  have  come,"  he  said  quietly. 

"  Bad  news?  "  she  forced  herself  to  say. 

"  You  might  call  it  that." 

This  gave  Bowden  his  opportunity.     He  rose  hastily. 

"  I  hope  it's  not  serious,"  he  said  glibly.  "If  you'll 
permit  me  — "  He  offered  his  hand.  "  I  know  you  wish 
to  talk  this  over  alone.  Mrs.  Garford,  I  hope  your  head 
ache  will  be  better  to-morrow.  It  was  a  shame  to  miss 
that  last  act." 

He  had  quite  recovered  himself  with  the  prospect  of  a 
flight  that  providentially  opened  to  him.  He  bowed  a  lit 
tle  doubtfully  to  Garford,  but  the  husband  nodded  and  sat 
down.  Bowden  exchanged  glances  with  the  wife,  slipped 
on  his  coat,  and  took  up  his  hat.  The  woman  looked  at 
him  in  terror;  she  saw  to  the  bottom  of  his  soul  and  com 
prehended  that  he  was  deserting  her.  Garford,  mean 
while,  had  risen,  gone  to  the  table  and  turned,  his  arms 
folded,  leaning  against  its  side. 

Bowden  made  a  final  bow  and  went  to  the  door.  Al 
most  immediately  he  came  back. 

"Why,  it's  locked!" 

"  What's  that?  "  said  Garford,  lifting  his  head. 

"  Why,  it's  locked ! "  said  Bowden,  who  felt  the  room 
beginning  to  reel  about  him. 

"Yes;  I  locked  it." 

Despite  the  uncanny  sense  of  terror  which  began  to 
creep  over  him,  the  young  man  managed  to  blurt  out : 

"  But  why  —  what  does  this  mean  ?  " 

The  woman,  who  understood  by  this  time  that  she  was 
fighting  for  her  life,  joined  in  his  remonstrances. 


226  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

"  Dan  —  are  you  crazy  —  you  can't  act  this  way  — 
what  do  you  mean?  " 

Gar  ford  returned  to  the  chair,  and  this  nervous  shifting 
did  not  escape  her,  or  the  straining  of  his  clasped  fingers 
held  against  his  lips  as  he  answered,  with  forced  calm : 

"  You  should  know." 

She  tried,  while  gaining  time,  to  turn  it  off  lightly  while 
assuming  an  attitude  of  frankness: 

"  Surely,  you  don't  object  to  Mr.  Bowden's  coming  in 
here  for  a  nightcap  and  a  cigar !  You  are  not  as  prudish 
as  that,  and  if  you  were,  you  know  I  have  done  it  a  hun 
dred  times;  that  would  be  too  ridiculous,  Dan!  You 
aren't  going  to  make  a  scene  over  this !  " 

"  Is  that  all  you  have  to  say  to  me  —  that  I  should 
know,"  he  asked,  when  she  had  finished. 

She  bit  her  lip,  tried  to  answer,  and  succeeded  only  in 
staring  at  him.  She  also  began  to  be  horribly  afraid. 

"  And  you,  Mr.  Bowden?  " 

The  young  fellow  had  an  answer  ready,  glib  on  his 
tongue,  but,  at  the  look  in  the  husband's  eyes,  it  vanished. 
In  the  palms  of  his  hands  the  perspiration  began  to  rise. 
Before  the  avenging  dignity  in  the  glance  of  this  man 
whom  he  had  so  many  times  smiled  at  in  the  satisfied 
disdain  of  the  social  freebooter,  he  felt  himself  all  at  once 
insignificant,  as  a  chip  of  wood  swept  under  a  great  surf. 
She  understood  that  she  could  expect  no  help  from  him 
and  desperately  began  to  counterfeit  anger. 

"  I  will  not  be  insulted  like  this,"  she  cried  furiously. 
"  I  demand  that  you  open  that  door  and  end  this  absurd, 
this  humiliating  scene.  I " 

"  Stop !  "  he  said  roughly,  and  she  comprehended  how 
completely  he  dominated  the  scene  by  the  cold  weakness, 
the  powerless  sense  of  inaction  which  fell  on  her  at  the 
sound  of  his  voice.  "  Tell  Mr.  Bowden  what  I  laid  down 
to  you  as  the  rules  of  our  marriage." 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  227 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  she  stammered. 

"  Tell  him  what  I  have  told  you  I  expected  from  you 
as  my  due." 

"  But  I  don't  understand  why  — •  why " 

"  Tell  him." 

"  Why,  you  said,  you  said,"  she  faltered,  "  in  case  either 
of  us  found  —  no  —  no,  this  is  too  absurd " 

"  Either  of  us  found  we  had  come  to  love  another,"  he 
took  up ;  "  go  on." 

"  That  we  should  tell  the  other,"  she  said,  hardly  able 
to  get  the  words  out. 

"  Honestly  and  loyally,"  he  broke  in,  "  and  that  there 
should  be  no  restraint  on  this  liberty  of  choice  as  there 
could  be  no  deceit  out  of  respect  for  the  other.  Is  that 
right?" 

She  nodded,  staring  at  his  arms  and  great  hands,  fear 
ing  their  brute  strength. 

"  You  did  not  tell  that  to  Mr.  Bowden,"  he  continued. 

Bowden,  who  felt  himself  cornered,  advanced,  and  said 
with  a  last  show  of  courage: 

"  Mr.  Garford,  I  don't  understand  this  scene  in  the 
least  and  I  must  insist  —  insist,  do  you  hear  —  that  you 
open  that  door." 

Garford  rose,  and,  though  his  voice  still  maintained  a 
certain  calm,  his  hands  twitched  at  his  sides,  as  he  said, 

"  Bowden,  you  don't  think  this  was  an  accident,  do 
you?" 

"  Why,  what  —  what  do  you  mean?  " 

"  I  know! " 

As  he  said  this  for  the  first  time,  the  rage  in  his  soul 
came  thronging  into  the  exclamation.  He  caught  at  a 
chair  to  steady  himself.  Bowden  recoiled  in  terror;  the 
woman,  shrieking,  flung  herself  at  the  feet  of  her  hus 
band,  crying: 

"Don't  kill  me,  Dan;  don't  kill  me!" 


228  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

He  stood  swaying  under  the  shock  of  her  body  against 
his  knees,  recovering  his  self-control,  with  a  smile  of  con 
tempt  at  the  young  coward  shrinking  against  the  wall, 
a  moment  that  paid  him  back  for  the  humiliation  of 
months. 

"  I  am  not  going  to  kill  you  —  not  yet,"  he  said  slowly. 
"Get  up!" 

She  obeyed. 

"  This  man  is  your  lover,  then  ?  " 

She  looked  at  him,  did  not  dare  to  equivocate,  and  bent 
her  head  in  acquiescence. 

"  That  is  so,  isn't  it,  Bowden  ?  "  he  said,  without  doing 
him  the  honor  to  look  at  him. 

"  Yes." 

"  That  is  all  that  is  necessary,"  he  said;  but  the  shock 
of  the  answers  had  been  so  intense  that  it  was  a  moment 
before  he  could  continue.  "  I  shall  trouble  you  only  a 
moment.  The  case  is  quite  plain.  I  am  the  third.  You 
would  have  saved  us  all  this  if  you  had  come  to  me 
openly." 

Then  she  understood  his  object.  She  put  out  her  hands 
frantically. 

"  You're  going  to  divorce  me,"  she  cried  hysterically. 

Bowden,  by  the  table,  still  weak  from  the  imminence  of 
the  horror  which  passed,  took  out  his  handkerchief  and 
began  to  mop  his  brow. 

"  No.  In  our  set  whatever  happens,  we  do  not  fasten 
that  stain  upon  the  woman,"  Gar  ford  said.  "  You  will 
divorce  me  —  and  at  once.  The  cause  will  be  desertion. 
After  which,  within  forty-eight  hours  you  will  marry  this 
man.  These  are  my  orders!  " 

"  Marry  —  marry  him!  "  she  cried,  suddenly  perceiving 
the  pitfall.  "  But  I  don't  want  —  you  can  force  a  di 
vorce  —  but  you  can't "  Her  voice  broke.  "  You 

can't  do  that!  " 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  229 

Bowden,  aghast  before  the  prospect,  cried : 

"  Absurd  —  no,  no  —  absurd !  " 

"  What !  "  said  Garf ord,  in  a  voice  like  thunder ;  "  do 
you  mean  to  say  you  don't  love  him?  " 

She  looked  at  her  lover,  bit  "her  lip,  started  to  speak, 
and  all  at  once  sat  down,  crossing  her  arms  and  looking 
at  her  husband  as  though  she  could  murder  him.  She 
saw  in  a  flash  the  completeness  of  his  revenge,  and  she 
admired  him  that  he  could  be  so  strong.  Bowden,  who 
did  not  seize  the  significance  of  the  question  as  quickly  as 
the  woman,  saw  only  the  ridicule  that  would  face  him  in 
a  marriage  with  a  woman  whose  intrigues  had  been  com 
mon  gossip.  The  fear  of  ridicule  gave  him  a  touch  of 
courage  which  nothing  else  could  have  aroused.  He 
broke  out  furiously : 

"  This  is  too  ridiculous  —  and  it's  none  of  your  busi 
ness!" 

"  Bowden,  look  out !  "  said  Garford,  beginning  to  grow 
hot.  "  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  when  I  eliminate 
myself  you  refuse  to  marry  her?  " 

"I  refuse,"  he  said  doggedly;  at  which  the  woman 
swung  about,  mortally  humiliated,  and  gave  him  a  look 
of  undying  hatred. 

"You  refuse?"  said  Garford  between  his  teeth. 

"  I  do." 

"  Then,  just  what  have  you  been  doing  here,  Mr.  Bow 
den  ?  "  he  said  slowly,  and  gradually,  with  his  eyes  on  the 
other,  his  feet  crept  over  the  rug.  All  at  once  he  saw  red, 
caught  the  young  man  as  he  turned  to  escape,  and,  his 
hands  at  his  throat,  bent  him  backward  over  the  table  as 
though  he  had  been  a  straw.  Louise,  even  at  such  a  mo 
ment  with  the  dread  of  society  before  her  eyes,  was 
shrieking : 

"  Don't  kill  him;  don't  kill  him,  Dan!  " 

Bowden's  eyes  began  to  bulge  and  his  face  to  go  purple. 


23o  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

He  made  a  frantic  sign  of  surrender  and  fell  choking  to 
the  floor. 

"Well?"  said  Garford. 

"  I  will  —  anything  —  anything !  " 

"  Within  forty-eight  hours  after  my  name  is  freed,  you 
marry  this  woman !  What  she  does  from  then  on  will  be 
on  your  name  —  not  mine."  He  looked  a  moment,  even 
with  a  fierce  leap  of  triumph,  at  the  cringing  body  of  the 
man  who  had  humiliated  him  in  his  secret  pride.  "  I'm 
not  going  to  take  any  promises  from  you  —  but  I  think 
you  understand  now  what  I  will  do  if  my  orders  are  not 
carried  out  to  the  hour !  "  And  as  Bowden  made  no 
.answer,  he  put  out  his  foot  in  a  crowning  insult  and 
stirred  the  abject  body.  "  Do  you  ?  " 

"Yes;  yes!" 

"  Good!  "  He  turned  to  the  woman,  who  had  waited 
this  outcome  in  stubborn  terror.  "  I  have  made  certain 
investigations.  Would  you  like  your  future  husband  to 
know  what  I  know?" 

"  Quite  unnecessary,"  she  said,  looking  down. 

"  That  means  you  will  do  exactly  as  I  say." 

She  nodded. 

"  As  for  what  you  are  thinking,"  he  said,  with  a  final 
quixotic  disdain,  "  don't  worry.  You  will  not  need  for 
money.  The  day  after  your  marriage,  I  will  settle  my 
income  on  you."  And  as  she  looked  up  with  a  start  she 
couldn't  restrain,  he  added,  with  a  scornful  gesture  of  his 
thumb  at  Bowden :  "  I  am  buying  him  for  you  —  to  keep 
my  name  clean !  " 


XXIII 

THE  reaction  from  the  finality  of  this  scene  drove  Gar- 
ford  into  a  high  fever.  The  shock  to  his  nervous  system,, 
already  under  constant  pressure,  during  the  preceding 
weeks,  had  culminated  in  the  outburst  of  that  moment 
when  he  had  held  Bowden's  head  in  his  hands  and  watched 
it  go  purple.  For  a  week,  the  pulsation  of  his  heart  in 
creased  to  such  an  alarming  velocity,  filling  his  lungs  as 
fast  as  his  gasping  breathing  could  discharge  the  air,  that 
the  doctor,  fearing  for  his  life,  had  him  conveyed  to  a 
hospital.  It  was  here  that  Doctor  Fortier,  working  be 
hind  the  scenes  of  the  consultation-room,  had  made  his 
first  attempt  to  have  him  placed  in  an  asylum. 

His  wife's  brother  had  consistently  remained  in  the 
background.  He  had  seen  him  only  at  rare  intervals, 
and  always  with  a  sensation  of  dislike  which  amounted  to 
a  physical  antipathy.  Between  the  sister  and  brother, 
each  a  daring  climber,  filled  with  the  contempt  of  petty 
obstacles,  there  were  queer,  unspoken  comprehensions. 
Doctor  Fortier  had  branched  into  other  fields  beyond  the 
narrow  limits  of  his  profession.  His  name  had  been  as 
sociated  with  land-development  schemes  and  promoting 
syndicates.  He  had  prospered,  grown  wealthy,  risked 
too  much,  been  bankrupted,  and  had  slowly  wormed  his 
way  back  along  the  speculative  highway.  He  made  no 
pretense  at  morality,  disdaining,  in  the  boldness  of  his  na 
ture,  the  cloak  of  hypocrisy  that  others  assumed  before  the 
world.  In  the  present  case,  he  flung  himself  into  the 
battle  for  his  sister's  future  without  a  restraining  scruple. 


232  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

Among  the  crowd  of  admirers  who  surrounded  Louise 
Fortier  was  a  certain  direct  and  unworldly  person,  David 
Macklin,  made  rich  into  the  millions  by  a  casual  freak  of 
nature  which  stored  treasures  of  oil  beneath  the  tax-rid 
den  farms  of  his  ancestors.  Louise  Fortier,  with  the  in 
stinctive  sense  of  defense  of  the  woman  even  toward  the 
undivined  dangers  of  the  future,  had  assumed  toward  this 
blunt  and  simple  nature  an  attitude  of  grateful  comrade 
ship.  She  consulted  him  on  trivial  decisions ;  she  assumed 
the  frank  intimacy  of  a  privileged  confidant,  and  she  con 
fided  in  him  the  burden  of  her  imaginary  woes.  He  had 
the  self-made  man's  contempt  for  conventionalities. 
When  he  fell  in  love  with  her,  he  thought  of  only  one 
thing :  carrying  her  off,  breaking  the  chain  that  bound  her, 
of  a  divorce  that  would  make  her  free  for  him.  She 
checked  him,  well  pleased,  satisfied  for  the  present  to  have 
him  in  reserve.  When  she  had  seen  the  apparition  of  her 
husband,  after  the  first  cold  fear  for  her  own  safety,  even 
mingled  with  her  terror  had  been  the  thought,  "  If  I  can 
only  escape,  there  is  still  Macklin."  Hence  her  horror 
when  she  had  perceived  the  full  extent  of  Garford's  re 
venge  and  the  ridicule  which  would  fasten  on  her  with  a 
marriage  to  a  social  idler  ten  years  her  junior. 

The  crisis  which  faced  her  astute,  practical  mind  left 
her  under  no  illusions.  She  understood  the  society  in 
which  she  moved,  the  enemies  she  had  made,  and  the  re 
venge  they  would  attempt.  With  the  gossip  already 
clinging  to  her  name,  marriage  to  Bowden  meant  also  so 
cial  ostracism.  In  the  catastrophe  which  threatened,  she 
needed  a  cloak  of  at  least  twenty  millions,  for  there  are 
well-defined  degrees  in  society's  tolerance.  To  save  her 
self  by  Macklin  she  was  ready  for  anything  —  any  lie  or 
any  humiliation. 

Doctor  Fortier,  consulted,  had  immediately  evolved  the 
daring  plan  of  having  the  husband  declared  insane,  a 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  233 

course  not  so  difficult  as  it  seemed,  on  account  of  the  many 
known  eccentricities  of  his  character  and  the  final  dis 
order  into  which  the  discovery  of  his  wife's  true  character 
had  thrown  him. 

A  chance  remark  of  one  of  the  attending  nurses,  the 
mere  dropping  of  Doctor  Fortier's  name,  had  aroused 
Garford's  suspicions.  He  questioned  adroitly  and  learned 
that  his  brother-in-law  was  of  the  hospital  staff.  Once 
on  his  guard,  he  noticed  the  constant  surveillance  over  his 
actions,  his  words,  habits,  even  to  the  silent  moods  of 
the  day.  He  divined  the  pitfall  and  the  danger  not  only 
to  himself,  but  to  his  cherished  scheme  of  revenge,  sud 
denly  calmed  the  fever  of  excitement,  and  ended  the  tor 
turing  nights  of  insomnia.  To  the  surprise  of  every  one, 
his  pulse  became  normal  again;  he  slept,  and  all  signs  cf 
mental  irritation  vanished.  Three  days  later,  he  walked 
out  of  the  hospital,  apparently  cured. 

The  realization  of  the  peril  he  had  escaped  left,  how 
ever,  a  haunting  memory,  even  an  inner  dread  of  the  pos 
sibility  of  a  mental  breakdown.  The  shadow  of  Doctor 
Fortier  seemed  constantly  close  to  him,  spying  on  his 
movements  with  cynical  exultant  expectancy,  biding  the 
opportune  moment.  Two  further  attempts  had  been 
made  to  Seize  him  by  force,  one  at  the  bachelor  apart 
ment  where  he  had  taken  up  his  residence  and  the  second 
at  his  home,  where  he  had  been  decoyed  by  an  urgent  mes 
sage  from  his  wife.  Each  attempt  had  failed  —  the  first 
due  to  the  accidental  arrival  of  friends,  the  second  to  a 
warning  which  had  arrived  to  him  from  some  unknown 
source,  from  a  servant,  perhaps,  to  whom  he  had  been  kind. 
In  the  suspense  in  which  he  was  living,  he  plunged  into  the 
oblivion  of  dissipation  at  a  pace  which  only  his  extreme 
impulses  could  carry  him,  until  his  excesses  had  become 
notorious.  His  lawyers  represented  to  him  that  such 
public  outbursts  could  not  fail  but  play  into  the  hands  of 


234  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

his  enemies,  who  would  be  able  to  demand  his  commit 
ment  with  every  degree  of  plausibility.  He  then  resolved 
to  pursue  his  galloping  way  to  destruction  in  some  con 
venient  hidden  outpost  of  the  city,  and,  seeking  to  hide  his 
identity  under  the  name  of  Dangerfield  and  to  disappear 
completely,  had  come  to  Teagan's  Arcade.  Despite  the 
pleadings  of  his  lawyers,  he  had  insisted  on  the  full  quix 
otic  program  of  flinging  his  fortune  into  the  faces  of 
those  who  had  wronged  him,  knowing  well  that  they  would 
humiliate  themselves  to  the  point  of  accepting  it  in  some 
convenient  disguise.  Also,  he  had  come  to  hate  the  very- 
idea  of  money,  which  had  never  come  into  his  life  but  to 
disorganize  it,  which  had  so  often  dragged  him  from  the 
inspired  simplicity  of  his  artist's  isolation  into  the  disillu 
sioning  and  fatiguing  notoriety  of  the  brilliant  rushing 
world. 

The  suit  for  divorce  had  been  forced  on  his  wife  by  his 
threat  to  bring  an  action  himself  with  all  the  consequent 
publicity  of  details.  She  recoiled  before  this  and  accepted 
the  inevitable.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  she  comprehended 
that  a  divorce  was  necessary ;  indeed,  she  had  welcomed  it 
in  her  new-found  ambition  to  marry  Macklin.  She  hoped 
that,  with  time,  the  determination  of  her  husband  would 
turn  from  the  ultimatum  he  had  delivered,  particularly  as 
she  knew  that  his  lawyers,  in  their  effort  to  save  the  quix 
otic  artist  from  robbing  himself,  were  urging  him  to  be 
satisfied  with  a  divorce  which  would  carry  with  it  no 
financial  imposition.  When  gradually  she  perceived  the 
character  of  his  obsessed  resolution,  she  determined  on  a 
decisive  step.  Whatever  the  advice  of  her  counsellors 
she  had  never,  for  a  moment,  the  slightest  doubt  what  he 
would  do  in  case  she  dared  to  disobey  him.  This  was  the 
situation  the  night  of  the  boxing  party  when  the  door  had 
suddenly  opened  to  Dangerfield  upon  the  unwelcome 
figure  of  his  wife. 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  235 

The  last  visitor  had  crowded  awkwardly  out  of  the 
studio ;  the  door  had  closed,  and  they  remained  standing, 
face  to  face.  She  turned,  drew  the  bolt,  flung  back  the 
heavy  veil  which  protected  her,  and  said  gently : 

"  Put  on  your  things  first,  Dan." 

"  What  do  you  want?  Why  do  you  come  here?  "  he 
said  frowning,  lowering  angrily  at  her,  the  clumsy  gloves 
still  on  his  hands,  his  body  red  and  white  under  the  glare 
of  the  top  light. 

"  To  throw  myself  on  your  mercy,"  she  said,  dropping 
her  hands  in  a  hopeless  surrender.  "  To  do  anything  you 
want." 

"  Anything  but  one,"  he  cut  in. 

"  Anything  but  one,"  she  said,  in  a  whisper,  and  her 
hands  closed  in  tension  at  the  slender  throat. 

The  evil  passion  of  revenge  momentarily  possessed  him, 
at  the  thought  that  this  woman  who  had  so  often  mocked 
him  in  her  heart  as  an  easy  dupe,  had,  at  last,  come  here 
to  taste  the  bitterness  of  humiliation  herself,  in  order  to 
escape  the  fate  he  had  commanded.  He  wished  to  enjoy 
this  reversal  of  the  roles,  and,  in  an  ugly  mood,  turned  his 
back  on  her,  walked  over  to  the  couch,  and  flung  himself 
into  a  sweater.  She  watched  him,  without  moving,  until 
he  had  returned  and  faced  her,  and,  from  the  cruelty  in 
his  eyes  and  the  smile  over  his  lips,  she  comprehended 
how  hopeless  was  her  mission.  An  inspiration  came  to 
her.  She  said  rapidly: 

"  Wait  until  you  understand  why  I  have  come." 

"  Why  have  you  come?  "  he  said,  smiling,  expectant  of 
the  lie. 

She  was  able  to  shudder,  counterfeiting  a  physical  re 
pulsion  so  finely  that  he  was  half-deceived. 

"  First,  to  tell  you  that  I  will  not  accept  a  cent  of  that 
money  from  you.  I  may  be  everything  —  but  I  am  not 
—  that ! "  she  said,  looking  down  to  avoid  his  eyes. 


236  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

"  You  can  make  me  marry  Bowden,  but,  if  you  do,  I 
shall  never  touch  a  cent  of  your  money." 

"  So  you  have  made  up  your  mind  to  marry  him?  " 

"If  you  insist,  I  have  no  choice/'  she  said,  without  re 
sistance. 

He  thought : 

"  H'm,  this  is  the  first  stage."  Aloud,  he  said,  "  My 
dear  Louise,  if  you  do  not  marry  him,  you  admit  that  you 

are  a "  He  hesitated,  in  his  disgust  before  the  word 

to  characterize  her  action. 

"  I  admit  it  all,"  she  said. 

A  flash  of  anger  shook  him  at  the  thought.  He  said 
angrily : 

"  You  may.  I  do  not.  I  do  not  admit  to  you,  to  Bow- 
den,  or  to  the  world  that  the  woman  who  bears  my  name 
can  be  such  a  creature.  That  is  the  point." 

She  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  a  chair,  checked  at  her 
first  attempt,  staring  at  the  carpet,  her  lips  compressed, 
her  agile  mind  racing  ahead,  conscious  of  the  cruel  enjoy 
ment  with  which  he  watched  and  waited. 

"  There  is  no  use  in  going  on,"  he  said,  after  a  mo 
ment's  silence.  "  This  interview  is  very  painful  to 
me." 

She  made  no  answer,  though  her  slender  eyebrows 
came  into  a  closer  contraction  which  sent  little  furrows 
shooting  over  her  forehead  and  brought  drawn  lines  down 
to  her  lips.  He  did  not  insist.  He  was  curious  with  the 
sense  of  some  impending  danger.  Why  had  she  come  — 
the  true,  the  final  reason  which  would  emerge  at  the  end  ? 

At  this  moment,  she  raised  her  eyes  and  fixed  her  glance 
on  him  in  a  long,  penetrating  stare. 

"  She  has  come  to  see  if  I  am  drinking  myself  to  death." 
The  thought  flashed  over  him.  He  smiled  and  said 
coldly :  "  Never  fear  —  I  shall  hold  out !  " 

Whatever  the  thought  in  her  mind,  she  rose,  glanced 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  237 

around  the  room,  and  her  fingers  closed  over  her  throat 
as  though  overcome  with  emotion. 

"  It's  too  frightful  for  words !  "  she  said.  • 

"What  is?" 

"  What  I  have  done,"  she  said,  in  a  whisper.  "  To  find 
you  here  in  such  a  place."  She  went  to  the  window  which 
gave  over  the  roofs,  raised  the  shade  on  that  forlorn  pros 
pect,  and  pulled  it  down  again  with  a  shudder.  Pre 
pared  as  he  was  for  duplicity,  he  did  not,  at  that  moment, 
suspect  the  motive  of  this  reconnoitering.  She  came 
back,  drawing  her  hand  over  her  eyes. 

"  I  deserve  no  mercy,"  she  said,  staring  away  from  him. 

"  But  you  have  come  here  to  get  it,"  he  said  cynically. 

"  Yes." 

"  It  is  useless." 

"  If  I  agree  to  the  divorce  —  it  is  as  good  as  granted  — 
why  do  you  insist  on  my  marrying  Bowden  ? " 

"  For  the  honor  of  my  name,"  he  said  angrily.  "  I  do 
not  deny  you  the  right  to  love  another;  but  I  do  not 
acknowledge  that  you  can  soil  my  honor  by  a  vulgar  de 
ception.  If  I  had  believed  otherwise  that  night,  I  should 
have  killed  you." 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"  Then  kill  me  now." 

"  Then  what  you  were  had  still  power  to  hurt  me,"  he 
said  coldly. 

She  fell  into  silence  again  before  this  check  to  the  out 
burst  she  had  prepared.  At  the  end,  she  said  slowly : 

"  Is  it  to  punish  me  or  to  cleanse  your  name  ?  " 

"  To  cleanse  my  name,"  he  said  emphatically. 

A  ray  of  light  appeared  to  her. 

"  You  wish  whatever  I  do  in  the  future  to  be  under 
another  name  but  yours." 

"  Precisely." 

"  Very  well ;  I  am  ready  to  marry  immediately,  in  the 


238  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

forty-eight  hours  as  you  require  —  but  not  Bowden." 

He  was  caught  unawares.  He  asked  himself  rapidly 
who  it  could  be  whom  she  had  been  able  to  dominate  thus 
in  her  moment  of  peril,  and,  carried  away  by  this  curiosity, 
he  said: 

"Who  is  it?" 

"  Mr.  David  Macklin  wishes  to  marry  me  the  moment 
I  am  free." 

"Macklin!"  he  exclaimed,  his  astonishment  so  visibly 
na'ive  that  she  was  hard  put  to  it  to  check  a  smile.  "  Well, 
that  is  a  surprise." 

"Why?" 

"  I  had  not  counted  on  Macklin,"  he  said  cynically. 
"  If  he  is  another  one,  I  knew  nothing  of  it." 

"He  has  never  been  my  lover  —  really  —  if  that  is 
what  you  mean,"  she  said  quickly. 

He  looked  at  her,  at  this  strange  woman  who  had  lived 
so  many  years  by  his  side,  and  even  as  she  in  the  scene  of 
her  confession  had  yielded  him  an  involuntary  tribute  for 
his  mastery  of  the  scene,  he  felt  an  almost  animal  admira 
tion  for  the  genius  of  fascination  in  her  which  could 
achieve  such  a  stroke  in  the  moment  of  her  humilia 
tion. 

"  I  wonder  what  story  you  could  have  told  him,"  he 
said,  yielding  frankly  to  this  impulse. 

"  That  is  not  the  point,"  she  said  indifferently.  "  But, 
first,  I  want  you  to  know  me  as  I  am.  Your  detectives 
have  told  you  much.  It  is  nothing  to  the  reality." 

"  Is  it  possible  there  is  more?  "  he  said  coldly. 

"  You  shall  judge;  I  shan't  withhold  anything,"  she  said 
heavily,  and  lines  of  age  and  weariness  came  into  her 
face  as  she  doggedly  came  to  her  decision.  "  You  will 
loathe  me,  but  you  will  understand  why  I  am  as  I  am.  I 
don't  ask  you  to  take  me  back ;  I  admit  I  cannot  be  true 
to  any  man." 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  239 

Deceived  by  his  silence,  counting  on  the  gentleness  and 
charity  in  his  nature,  seeking  the  dramatic  appeal  to  his 
sympathies,  perhaps  with  a  wild  hope  that  she  might  paint 
such  a  picture  that  he  would  turn  from  his  revenge  by  the 
very  revulsion  of  his  loathing,  she  began  a  story  of  a  dis 
torted  childhood,  of  a  corrupt  and  venal  home,  a  terrible, 
incomprehensible  history  which  he,  held  though  he  was 
by  the  whispered  tragic  procession  of  ghoulish  memories, 
did  not  entirely  believe.  The  first  leaden,  sullen  attitude 
continued  in  the  mechanical,  colorless  recital.  The  tears, 
one  by  one,  rose  in  her  eyes  and  traveled  slowly  down  her 
cheeks,  without  a  note  of  suffering  breaking  into  her  voice. 
He  listened,  fascinated,  incredulous,  asking  himself  if  hu 
man  artifice  could  invent  such  a  history. 

"  That  was  my  childhood.  The  rest  ?  —  nothing  else 
matters,"  she  said,  with  a  shrug  of  her  shoulder.  "  You 
know  the  rest  —  half  of  it.  Could  you  expect  anything 
else?"  She  took  out  her  handkerchief  —  her  voice  had 
not  risen  —  and  carefully  suppressed  the  tears  gathered 
on  her  eyes.  Then  she  extended  her  hands  in  a  little 
movement  of  appeal. 

"Well?" 

There  was  a  long,  tense  silence. 

"  What  a  monster !  "  he  said  at  last. 

She  believed  that  she  had  won,  that  she  had  humbled 
herself  so  low  in  this  hideous  confession  that  she  was  now 
beneath  his  contempt.  She  flung  herself  at  his  feet,  cling 
ing  to  them,  crying: 

"  Dan,  Dan,  let  me  go  —  let  me  go  —  don't  drag  us 
both  down !  " 

"  Drag  you  down !  "     He  burst  into  a  wild  laugh. 

She  rose,  abruptly  disillusioned,  and  looked  at  him  as 
though  she  would  spring  at  his  throat. 

"  Keep  on  looking  at  me  like  that,"  he  said  coldly. 
"  Now  we  have  the  truth !  " 


24o  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

"  I  swear  — "  she  began  vehemently. 

"  Don't,"  he  cut  in.  "  I  don't  believe  you,  and  if  I  did, 
a  thousand  times  more  reason  why  you  should  have  played 
square  with  me." 

She  knew  that  she  had  lost,  even  at  the  moment  when 
in  her  self-admiration  for  the  tour-de-force  she  had  in 
vented,  she  had  felt  that  success  must  be  hers.  She  saw 
a  side  of  the  man  she  had  never  suspected,  the  side  which 
no  woman  perceives  until  she  is  on  the  point  of  losing  the 
man  who  has  lived  at  her  side,  and  she  said  to  herself : 
"  I  have  underrated  him." 

"  Louise,  I  told  you  a  lie,"  he  said.  "  I  wish  to  punish 
you.  That  is  the  truth.  I  have  that  in  me,  too."  He 
felt  the  rapid  mounting  of  his  pulse,  the  inner  raging  ex 
citement  starting  up,  and  he  checked  the  cruel  words 
which  were  on  his  tongue,  afraid  of  where  an  outburst  of 
passion  would  fling  him,  saying  instead :  "  Are  you 
through?" 

She  looked  at  him  and  began  to  laugh. 

"  That  is  better,"  he  said  cynically. 

"  I  did  not  lie  to  you,"  she  said  abruptly. 

"  Perhaps  not  entirely." 

"  You  won't  change,  then?  " 

He  shook  his  head. 

She  drew  a  long  breath,  went  over  to  the  dressing- 
table  and  rearranged  her  hair  which,  at  the  moment  when 
she  had  thrown  herself  at  his  feet,  had  become  disar 
ranged.  She  took  her  time,  adjusting  many  little  trifles, 
assuring  herself  that  all  trace  of  her  emotion  had  disap 
peared.  When  she  returned  to  where  he  had  waited 
motionless,  she  said: 

"  I'm  sorry.  It's  all  very  foolish.  You  are  ruining 
yourself."  He  took  up  her  coat  and  held  it  for  her.  "  I 
shan't  trouble  you  again,"  she  continued.  "  It  is  final, 
isn't  it?" 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  241 

He  opened  the  door,  aware  of  the  hammering  at  his 
heart  and  the  dangerous  tension  of  all  his  nerves. 

"Too  late  —  I've  said  it  —  you've  got  just  four  days 
more." 

"  I've  been  a  fool.  It  is  useless  to  ask  you  to  forgive 
me.  I  do,  though,"  she  said  bitterly  enough,  yet  to  him 
the  motion  seemed  counterfeit. 

He  laughed  a  scornful  laugh. 

"  With  all  your  cleverness  you're  not  clever  enough. 
You  should  have  known  the  man  you're  dealing  with." 

The  next  moment  they  were  in  the  hall,  and  he  per 
ceived  that  they  had  been  overheard. 

The  rest  is  known ;  her  attempt  to  lure  him  downstairs 
to  where  Doctor  Fortier  and  his  aides  were  waiting  (an 
attempt  frustrated  by  the  intuition  of  Inga  and  the  inter 
ference  of  O'Leary) ;  Dangerfield's  alarm  at  the  menace 
he  felt  about  him;  his  enforced  abstinence,  and  the  ob 
session  that  gradually  took  possesion  of  him  that  he  was 
being  watched,  an  obsession  which  was  justified  by  the 
subsequent  attempt  which  nearly  succeeded  in  delivering 
him  into  the  hands  of  Doctor  Fortier.  The  constant 
thought  of  the  outer  danger  raised  up  in  his  soul  the  fear 
of  the  inner  thing,  that  something  worse  than  death 
which,  at  times,  in  his  physical  weakness  seemed  to  cry 
out  in  the  hollow  of  his  brain.  When  he  had  whispered 
to  Inga  the  thing  he  feared,  he  had  but  hinted  at  the  inner 
torment  through  which  he  was  passing.  To  hold  on  to 
himself  a  little  longer,  to  realize  the  vengeance  he  had  de 
termined  was  his  sole  engrossing  thought,  and  then,  one 
way  or  the  other,  to  pull  the  numbing  clouds  of  oblivion 
about  his  head  and  sink  out  of  sight  —  a  failure.  For 
he  had  reached  that  utterly  hopeless  point  in  the  life  of  a 
man  of  talent  when  he  has  seen  everything,  been  every 
thing,  hoped  everything,  and  come  to  utter  disillusion 
ment,  too  profound  in  artistic  vision  to  trick  himself  into 


242  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

vain  hopes,  too  keen  in  worldly  knowledge  not  to  perceive 
the  tragedy  of  what  might  have  been.  Had  the  wreck  of 
his  home  come  before  the  surrender  of  his  vision,  he 
would  have  reacted,  forgotten  all  in  the  return  to  untram- 
meled  simplicity  and  dedication  to  work.  The  contrary 
was  true,  and,  in  the  whole  world,  there  was  nothing  to 
fall  back  on  —  no  object,  and  no  living  person.  With 
Inga,  he  felt  strange  actions  and  reactions.  In  her  pres 
ence,  the  quiet,  unquestioning  devotion  of  her  personality 
roused  him  sometimes  to  moments  of  vain  regret.  He 
had  even  said  to  himself  that  such  a  personality,  abso 
lutely  devoted,  demanding  nothing  but  to  serve  him,  un 
flinching  in  her  loyalty,  would  have  been  the  companion 
he  craved  and  needed.  He  often  thought  bitterly  that  it 
was  the  final  irony  of  fate  that,  in  the  end,  in  such  an 
abandoned  corner  of  the  world,  he  should  have  found  her 
—  too  late. 

Yet  he  was  not  conscious  of  any  feeling  of  love.  She 
was  still  an  unknown  and  uncharted  land  to  him,  to  which 
at  times  the  instinct  of  self-preservation  blindly  inclined 
him.  Nor  could  he  fathom  the  feeling  that  had  sent  her 
to  his  assistance.  He  was  grateful,  to  the  point  that  he 
would  not  for  the  world  have  left  a  bruising  memory  on 
her  young  life,  and  yet,  at  times,  at  the  thought  that  in  her 
silent  watching,  her  unquestioning  devotion,  there  lay  a 
deep  unfaltering  determination  to  turn  him  aside  from  his 
fixed  purpose,  he  felt  a  fierce  revolt,  an  angry  antagonism 
at  her  growing  ascendency.  This  was  the  situation  on 
the  night  when,  mercifully  confused  in  memory  and  per 
ceptions,  he  had  stumbled  back  into  his  studio,  mocking  at 
destiny,  and  found  her  waiting. 


XXIV 

IN  his  present  numbed  sense  of  outlines  and  of  jumbled 
conceptions  Dangerfield  had  obeyed  a  sullen  instinct  of 
revolt  when  he  had  drawn  Inga  from  the  studio  to 
plunge  again  into  the  heavy  slumber  of  the  city.  He  had 
a  confused  idea  that,  in  this  groping  flight  through  de 
serted  midnight  regions,  he  would  find  some  way  to  dis 
courage  her,  to  shake  off  this  uncomplaining  obstacle  to 
his  liberty  of  decision.  The  long  flights  of  stone  steps 
down  which  they  groped  their  way,  put  forth  hollow, 
echoing  protests  which  mounted  behind  them  as  they  sank 
deeper  into  the  cavernous  descent,  until  they  emerged  into 
the  arcade,  wan  and  still  with  its  faint,  watery  glass  sides 
and  dipping  vines,  and  ahead,  Broadway  yawning  at  the 
entfance. 

Dangerfield  strode  on,  seeing  neither  to  the  right  nor 
to  the  left,  and,  following  the  whim  of  the  moment, 
turned  westward  toward  the  river.  A  late  car  roared 
down  the  long  vista  and  fled,  retreating  in  softening  rum 
bles.  The  street  was  empty  and  the  acute  sound  of  their 
steps  struck  in  fantastic  distortion  against  the  city  of 
silence.  A  policeman  from  the  shadow  of  a  doorway 
studied  them  with  suspicion.  Above  them,  mysterious 
leviathans  —  swollen  gas-towers  —  spread  black  bulks 
against  the  sprinkled  night.  He  stopped  and  turned  on 
her,  seeing  her  white  face  dimly  in  the  flickering  street. 

"  So  you  are  following  me  ?  "  he  said  angrily. 

"  Please." 

She  moved  a  little  closer,  her  hands  clasped  and  at  her 
throat,  in  her  voice  that  low  almost  guttural  note  of  sooth- 


244  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

ing  appeal  which  she  knew  had  the  charm  of  quieting  him. 
He  stared  at  her  blankly,  confusing  her  with  other  voices 
and  other  memories,  and,  in  the  end,  with  a  nervous  shake 
of  his  head,  strode  away,  apparently  oblivious  of  her 
presence. 

The  tenements  closed  in  over  them,  putting  forth  their 
heavy,  crowded  smells.  A  random  fruit-stand  glowed  at 
their  sides,  its  drowsy  guardian  snoring  behind  glass  par 
titions;  beyond  him,  a  senseless  body,  wrapped  in  rags 
huddled  in  the  warmth  of  a  "  family  entrance  " ;  shouts, 
curses,  laughter  rolled  out  from  a  blinded  back  parlor, 
and,  all  at  once,  a  stream  of  yellow  shot  across  the  oozing 
black  of  the  street.  They  stopped  abruptly ;  from  the 
doorway  an  old  man  reeled  forth,  and  by  his  side,  guiding 
his  hand,  a  child  —  an  unearthly  child  with  an  aureole  of 
golden  hair.  He  came  opposite,  lurched  almost  on  them, 
touched  them  with  a  groping  hand  and  passed,  grumbling. 
He  was  blind.  Dangerfield  began  to  laugh  with  that 
short,  blood-freezing  laughter  of  his,  which  was  the  cry 
of  all  the  bitterness  within  his  soul.  She  shuddered  and 
momentarily  clung  to  his  arm,  turning  to  watch  the  child 
and  the  drunkard  fading  into  the  gloom. 

"Afraid?"  he  said  triumphantly. 

"  No,  no  —  memories/'  she  said  involuntarily. 

"  You  ?  "  he  said,  staring  at  her. 

She  nodded,  her  grip  on  his  arm  tightening. 

"  I  remember,"  she  said,  in  a  whisper. 

"  She  remembers,"  he  repeated  to  himself,  incapable  of 
ordering  his  ideas,  vastly  impressed  by  an  emotion  he 
could  not  have  defined,  for  he  added,  "  She,  too  —  lead 
ing  me."  And  as  though  the  figure  of  the  child  had  be 
come  merged  into  the  hundred  and  one  shifting  memories 
which  walked,  dissolved,  and  returned  to  his  side,  he 
stalked  on,  his  hand  on  the  girl's  shoulder,  heavy  with  his 
weight.  Everything  became  confused  in  his  mind,  Paris, 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  245 

Rome,  Florence,  London,  New  York,  the  crowded  boule 
vards,  the  Thames  Embankment,  and  the  outer  fortifica 
tions.  The  blurred  uprise  of  the  gas-works  settled  into 
the  age-worn  outline  of  the  Forum,  and  the  next  moment, 
with  the  wet  breath  of  the  river  on  his  face  and  the  vigi 
lant  lights  of  the  Palisades  bright  in  the  air,  he  was  skirt 
ing  the  Arno,  with  Fiesole  mingling  with  the  stars. 

The  cold  touch  of  the  river  wind  momentarily  revived 
him.  Slowly  the  Arno  faded  from  his  vision.  He  stood, 
in  puzzled,  dawning  comprehension,  on  the  long  water 
front,  with  its  sleeping  docks  and  nodding  mastheads. 
Beyond  lay  the  tragic  depths  of  the.  river,  rolling  away 
like  the  tears  of  multitudes,  luminous  insects  crawling 
back  and  forth.  At  his  feet,  straggling  trucks  were  rum 
bling  heavily;  a  few  all-night  cafes,  far-spaced,  streaked 
the  broad  avenue  with  their  gleaming  fingers.  Fie  shrank 
back  into  the  city,  into  the  phantasmagoria  which  closed 
over  his  eyes  and  roared  on  his  senses,  back  on  Broadway 
once  more,  with  its  occasional  taxi,  bright  with  late 
revelers. 

At  Sixty-first  Street  he  halted  before  the  revolving 
facets  of  the  entrance  to  Costello's.  The  footman  with 
out  saluted  him  and  called  him  by  name.  A  few  parties, 
with  sudden  bursts  of  white  satin  and  colored  brilliance, 
were  leaving  the  noisy  salons.  Others  returning  from 
earlier  rounds  of  gaiety  were  pressing  through,  like  flut 
tering,  many-tinted  butterflies. 

"  I'm  going  in,"  he  said  sullenly. 

"  If  you  want  to,"  she  answered. 

He  had  expected  resistance.  Compliance  irritated 
him.  The  next  moment,  they  were  in  the  anteroom, 
dazed  by  their  abrupt  transition  from  the  bleakness  of  the 
slums  into  this  fragrant  warm  nest  of  indolence  and  lux 
ury,  aware  of  perfumed  currents,  glowing  bodies,  and  the 
seduction  of  rioting  rhythms.  They  mounted  in  an  ele- 


246  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

vator  to  a  privileged  room,  where  all  sensations  seemed 
mingled  in  the  confusion  of  the  awakening  senses,  where, 
for  a  moment,  she  was  uncomfortably  conscious  of  the 
dark,  incongruous  blot  her  sober  attire  made  against  the 
swarming  flood  of  color.  A  waiter,  unimpressed,  was 
preparing  a  hostile  answer  when  Costello  himself  came  up 
with  hand  outstretched  at  the  sight  of  Dangerfield.  He 
turned  to  the  girl,  greeting  her  cordially. 

"  Glad  to  see  you  here  again ;  haven't  seen  you  for  a 
long  time." 

"  A  table,  Costello." 

"  Get  you  one  right  away,  Mr.  Garford." 

At  his  magic  touch,  they  found  themselves  advan 
tageously  placed  by  the  open  floor  where  the  dancers 
crowded  and  swept  against  them.  Dangerfield  ordered  a 
bottle  of  champagne  and  turned  to  her. 

"  Funny  mistake  Costello  made." 

"What?" 

"  Acted  as  though  he  knew  you." 

"  Yes ;  I  used  to  come  here  —  it  amused  me  occa 
sionally." 

"You,  Inga?" 

"  Why  not?  "  she  said,  opening  her  eyes. 

"After  all,  why  not?  Queer  though,"  he  said  stu 
pidly  but  he  continued  to  stare  at  her,  as  though  this  were 
a  manifestation  stranger  than  the  riot  of  cities  and  visions 
through  which  he  had  come. 

She  did  not  refuse  the  glass  of  champagne  he  poured 
her,  but,  after  raising  it  to  her  lips,  put  it  down  and  did 
not  touch  it  again.  Among  this  incredible  crowd  made 
up  of  the  extremes  of  society  —  women  of  the  world  seek 
ing  refuge  from  boredom,  and  courtesans,  giving  them 
selves  the  dignity  and  manners  which,  in  their  covetous 
ignorance,  they  associated  with  conventional  society,  there 
were  many  who  knew  Dangerfield,  who  stared  in  impu- 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  247 

dent  amazement  or  discussed  him  in  whispers,  with  side 
long  glances.  A  number  of  men  came  up  and  greeted 
him  boisterously. 

"  Want  to  dance  with  them  ?  "  he  asked,  nodding  to  her. 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  Not  to-night." 

The  spectacle  began  to  bore  him.  He  complained  of 
the  champagne  and  changed  his  order.  She  gave  no  word 
of  suggestion,  watching  him  with  occasional  stolen 
glances,  wondering  at  his  control.  Her  elbows  on  the 
table,  her  little  curved  chin  on  the  backs  of  her  hands, 
rather  Egyptian  in  the  immobility  of  her  pose  and  the 
baffling  quality  of  her  expression,  she  followed  the  dance 
without  distinguishing  the  dancers,  quite  unconscious  of 
the  curiosity  she  awoke,  serious  and  on  her  guard.  When 
friends  of  his  sought  her  as  a  partner  or  tried  to  engage 
her  in  conversation,  she  answered  in  a  few  quiet  words 
without  looking  at  them.  They  soon  understood  from  a 
glance  at  her  companion  what  her  role  must  be,  and  im 
portuned  her  no  further. 

When  she  least  expected  it,  Dangerfield  rose  impa 
tiently  and  departed. 

"  How  futile  that  all  is !  "  he  said  angrily,  when  they 
were  again  on  the  sidewalk.  "  Think  they're  having  a 
good  time  —  bah!"  He  swayed  for  the  first  time  and 
caught  her  shoulder,  drawing  his  fingers  tightly  over  his 
temples.  "  My  brain  is  rocking,"  he  said. 

"  The  air  will  do  you  good.     Walk  a  little." 

He  made  an  effort,  took  a  long  breath,  and  opened  his 
eyes. 

11  You  still  here  ?  "  he  said,  frowning. 

She  nodded. 

"  Why  do  you  follow  me  like  this?  "  he  sard  peevishly. 

"  Because  I  care  what  happens  to  you." 

"  That  is  ridiculous !  "  he  said  loudly. 


248  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

He  stared  a  moment  at  her  with  his  wild-animal  stare, 
and,  all  at  once,  as  though  he  had  found  a  way  to  get  rid 
of  her,  started  down  Eighth  Avenue.  They  arrived  at 
Columbus  Circle  with  the  first  muddied  grays  of  the  dawn 
creeping  in  above  the  whitening  electric  signs,  then  passed 
under  the  elevated  as  a  train  shrieked  and  roared  above 
them  in  its  burning  flight.  A  touring  car  went  whirring 
past  them,  defiant  of  speed-laws,  skidded  dangerously, 
righting  itself,  and  disappeared. 

Scavengers  were  already  turning  over  the  refuse  in 
waiting  ash-cans,  as  they  struck  into  a  side  street  and 
stopped  before  an  iron  grill  under  the  colored  electric 
sign,  "  MantelFs."  A  little  man  with  ratty  eyes  and  black 
wisps  of  hair  streaking  the  bald  dome  of  his  head,  shuf 
fled  to  the  gate  and  squinted  at  them  cautiously  before 
slipping  the  chain. 

The  low  rooms  were  swept  with  drifting  gray-blue 
smoke  clouds,  upholstered  benches  were  against  the  walls, 
where  oldish  women,  worn  with  the  fatigue  of  the  night, 
were  smiling  their  red  smiles  at  fatuous  youngsters. 
Three  or  four  foreign-looking  groups,  swarthy  men  with 
enormous  women,  were  in  corners  placidly  engaged  in 
their  own  affairs  as  though  this  were  the  most  respectable 
of  family  resorts.  A  mechanical  piano  in  a  further  room 
drummed  out  hideous  dance-music  to  swirling  groups  in 
frank  abandon.  Dangerfield  was  no  longer  conscious  of 
anything  but  an  angry  determination  to  revolt,  to  be  free 
of  all  encumbrance.  It  seemed  to  his  fuddled  imagina 
tion  that  it  was  no  longer  Inga  at  his  side  but  something 
strangely  akin  to  his  conscience,  defiantly  pursuing  him 
out  of  the  past  of  his  youth  and  illusions,  malignantly  and 
maliciously  clinging  to  him.  Somehow,  somewhere,  he 
must  rid  himself  of  this  impossible  burden,  crush  it  down, 
and  cast  it  aside. 

The  more  Inga  continued  silent  and  without  remon- 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  249 

strance,  the  wilder  his  resentment  mounted.  He  contin 
ued  to  drink  of  the  poisonous  rank  beverages  served  at 
extortionate  prices.  Many  stared  at  them  and  discussed 
them  openly,  but  no  interference  was  offered.  There  was 
something  so  combustible  and  wild  in  his  attitude,  that, 
there,  at  least  no  one  was  under  illusions  as  to  the  danger. 
In  half  an  hour  the  spirit  of  restlessness  in  him  drove  him 
out  into  the  streets  again.  He  was  so  befuddled  now, 
that  he  could  not  remember  her  name,  calling  her  Pepita, 
imagining  that  she  was  the  little  Spanish  model  of  the 
Latin  Quarter  who  had  tried  to  kill  herself. 

All  at  once  a  horror  of  the  city,  of  its  sham  brilliance 
paling  against  the  graying  sky,  of  its  oppressive  stone 
prisons,  possessed  him  with  a  longing  for  flight.  He 
strode  down  into  the  subway  and  took  a  West  Farms  ex 
press.  In  the  car  which  they  entered  a  score  of  persons 
were  wearily  grouped,  half  of  them  asleep,  a  few  heavy- 
eyed  laborers,  two  men  in  evening  dress,  a  girl  with  a 
heavy  coat  buttoned  over  a  ball  dress,  arms  folded,  and 
gazing  stolidly  ahead.  Dangerfield  seated  himself  in  a 
corner,  nodded,  and  went  to  sleep.  When  they  reached 
the  end  of  the  line  Inga  awoke  him  with  the  help  of  the 
guard,  and  asked  him  what  he  wanted  to  do. 

He  got  up  suddenly  and  walked  down  the  long  steps  to 
the  street.  They  were  in  the  open  spaces  of  the  upper 
city;  a  few  milk-wagons  were  passing  at  rare  intervals, 
about  them  was  the  feeling  of  the  rediscovered  earth  in 
long,  empty,  grass-grown  lots.  He  had  not  spoken  a 
word.  Suddenly  he  stopped  and  turned,  with  a  new  men 
ace  in  his  voice. 

"Well  — had  enough?" 

"  I'm  not  tired,"  she  said,  shaking  her  head  and  meeting 
his  look  steadily. 

"  We'll  see,"  he  said,  and  started  off  so  furiously  that, 
for  a  time,  she  was  put  to  it  to  keep  up  with  him.  At  the 


250  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

end,  from  the  need  of  taking  breath  himself,  he  stopped 
and  wheeled  on  her. 

"  What  —  you're  still  here !  " 

"  Yes." 

She  forced  a  smile,  and  this  smile  completed  his  ex 
asperation. 

"  Why  won't  you  let  me  go?  "  he  cried,  in  an  outburst 
of  rage.  "  You  let  me  go,  do  you  hear?  Dogging  and 
sneaking  about  me!  What  right  you  got  —  what  busi 
ness  is  it  what  I  do !  No  one  shall  stop  me  —  no  one,  do 
you  hear?  "  He  advanced  threateningly  on  her.  "  Had 
enough  of  interference  —  d'you  understand  ?  You  let  me 
go  now  —  let  me  go,  or  I'll  — " 

Midway  in  a  gesture  as  he  raised  his  hand  to  seize  her, 
his  legs  shook  under  him,  his  voice  stopped  in  his  throat, 
he  heaved  forward,  backward,  then  down  on  his  face,  and 
lay  still  in  a  crumpled  mass. 

She  bent  down  swiftly,  examined  him,  perceived  that 
he  was  completely  drunk  and  rose  to  look  for  help.  It 
was  nearing  six  o'clock  but  the  houses  were  still  closed 
against  the  night.  Near  her  at  a  corner  saloon,  a  studded 
glass  sign  announced: 

BOSTWEILER'S  PRIVATE  HOTEL 

She  hesitated  a  moment  before  the  squalor  and  sordid- 
ness  of  the  hotel  entrance,  divining  the  hideousness  into 
which  she  had  chanced,  shuddered  and  rang  the  night  bell. 
A  colored  doorman,  sleeping  somewhere  in  the  green-lit 
hallway,  called  sleepily : 

"  Come  right  in !" 

She  knocked  again  and  again  with  insistent,  angry 
knocks,  until  he  came  stumbling  and  rubbing  his  eyes  to 
the  door.  He  smelt  hornbly  of  cheap  whisky.  With  his 
aid  she  got  Dangerfield  in  and  up-stairs.  The  watcher 
grinned  knowingly  and,  rather  than  enter  into  explana- 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  251 

tions,  she  hastily  thrust  a  bill  into  his  hand  and  dismissed 
him.  Dangerfield  on  the  bed  was  still  unconscious.  The 
room  was  tawdry,  the  carpet  in  shreds,  the  gas-fixture 
bent,  and  the  blistered  furniture  covered  with  cheap,  soiled 
imitation  lace.  She  locked  the  door  and  drew  a  sofa  be 
fore  it,  opened  the  windows,  and  sat  down  in  a  rocking- 
chair,  her  head  racked  with  weary  pains,  watching  the 
drabs  and  grays  as  they  scurried  before  the  gorgeous 
cavalcade  of  the  victorious  sun. 

All  at  once  Inga  awoke  with  a  sense  of  danger.  Dan 
gerfield  was  standing  at  the  foot  of  her  chair,  or  rather 
the  specter  of  Dangerfield  looked  down  at  her  with  drawn 
lips  and  pasty  face,  with  twitching  nerves.  It  was  late 
afternoon. 


XXV 

FOR  a  moment,  startled  out  of  a  confused  succession  of 
restless  dreams,  Inga  could  not  realize  where  she  was. 
Then  the  squalor  of  the  room,  the  haggard,  tortured  face 
of  Dangerfield  looking  down  in  remorse,  the  memory  of 
the  long  night  of  struggle  came  back  in  a  flash.  She 
sprang  up  hastily. 

"  I  went  off  to  sleep  —  heavens,  how  late  is  it?  " 

"  It's  after  three  —  I've  been  waiting  for  you,"  he  said, 
in  a  low  voice. 

"  Oh,  why  didn't  you  call  me  ?  "  she  said  hastily,  struck 
by  the  new  note  of  pain  and  contrition. 

He  brushed  her  question  aside,  staring  at  her. 

"  How  was  it  possible  —  Good  God,  how  could  I 
have  brought  you  here?"  He  stopped,  shuddered,  and 
glanced  around  at  the  room. 

"  You  didn't.  I  brought  you,"  she  said  quickly. 
"  You  had  —  had  collapsed." 

'*  Sit  down,"  he  said. 

He  drew  a  chair  opposite  her,  took  both  her  hands  in 
his,  and  looked  at  her  so  long  that  she  began  to  be  em 
barrassed.  Then,  all  at  once,  his  lips  twisted,  his  eyes 
filled  with  tears,  and  he  buried  his  head  in  his  hands. 

"  Don't  mind  me,  Mr.  Dan !  "  she  cried  in  her  distress, 
bending  over  him.  "  Don't  think  of  me !  "  And,  as  he 
continued  to  dig  his  hands  into  his  cheeks  against  the  long 
pent-up  emotion,  she  added :  "  I'm  only  happy  to  have 
helped  you.  Really  I  am." 

He  rose  suddenly,  fighting  down  a  sob,  overcome  by 
remorse. 

"  Good  God,  where  have  I  dragged  you  ?  " 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  253 

She  came  to  him  swiftly  and  seized  his  hands  with  an 
imperious  gesture. 

"  What  do  you  think  I  care  about  that?  "  she  said,  with 
such  anger  that  it  shocked  him  into  attention.  !<  To  make 
a  man  out  of  you,  I'd  go  through  anything  —  anything, 
do  you  hear!  " 

He  searched  in  his  pockets  at  a  sudden  remembrance, 
found  the  bottle  he  had  bought  at  the  druggist's  the  night 
before,  and  looked  up  at  her. 

"  Then  why  didn't  you  take  this  ?  "  he  said  curtly. 

"  What  good  would  that  have  done  ?  "  she  said  impa 
tiently. 

He  stared  at  her  a  moment  and,  with  a  gesture  of  con 
tempt,  flung  the  bottle  against  the  floor,  where  it  crashed 
to  pieces. 

She  swayed  with  a  cry  of  joy  and  clung  to  him,  her 
head  pressed  against  his  shoulder,  as  though  a  sea  of 
perils  had  returned  him  safely. 

"  Why  the  devil  should  you  care  what  happens  to  an 
old  derelict,  you  queer  little  creature  ?  "  he  said  slowly, 
surprised  at  the  trembling  in  her  body. 

"Care!  Why,  if  anything  had  happened — "  She 
broke  off,  caught  her  breath  just  at  the  moment  when  she 
could  no  longer  control  herself,  and  dug  her  nails  into  the 
palms  of  her  hands  in  an  effort  to  regain  her  self-control. 

"  Don't  move  —  stay  where  you  are  —  near  me,"  he 
said  gently,  and  he  drew  one  arm  about  her  shoulder. 

Through  the  leaden,  racking  burdens  of  the  night,  a 
flood  of  cleansing  light  entered  his  soul,  a  passionate  thirst 
for  life  once  more.  The  world  outside  was  good,  full  of 
vibrant,  joyful  sounds  —  children's  voices,  laughing  as 
they  danced  to  the  music  of  a  hurdy-gurdy,  the  long  chat 
ter  of  scolding  sparrows,  tiny  sounds  and  yet  teeming  with 
life,  its  curiosity,  its  health,  its  response  to  sensations, 
pleasant,  intense,  and  intoxicating.  The  arm  he  had 


254  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

drawn  about  her  tightened  as  though  clinging  to  its  sal 
vage  in  the  storm  of  his  mind.  Warned  by  some  subtle 
intuition  of  the  heart,  she  did  not  attempt  to  move  away. 
Instead,  one  hand  crept  up  until  it  lay  against  the  rough 
cheek. 

"  I'm  so  sorry,  Mr.  Dan,"  she  said,  in  a  whisper. 
:'  Why,  you  never  could  have  harmed  any  one  —  I  know 
it !  I  know  it  isn't  your  fault  —  it  couldn't  be !  " 

"  No ;  it  isn't  my  fault,"  he  said  mechanically,  but  his 
thoughts  were  of  the  outer  world  with  its  insistent  call 
back  to  life,  to  the  life  which  rose  in  him  from  the  per 
fumed  contact  of  her  straight,  young  body,  the  scent  of 
her  hair,  the  softness  of  her  protecting  arms,  and  the 
warm  notes  of  her  whispering  voice.  All  at  once  he  held 
her  from  him  so  that  he  could  look  into  her  flushed  face 
and  said  solemnly,  sadly: 

"  Inga,  have  you  the  right  to  do  this  ?  Don't  you  know 
it's  a- grave  responsibility  you  have  taken  —  to  force  me 
to  go  on  living,  hating  everything,  hoping  nothing  — 
for  that's  what  you're  doing?  " 

'  You  must  —  you  must !  "  she  said  tremulously. 

His  eyes  were  on  her  every  expression  now,  and  in  them 
was  a  longing  to  question  and  to  be  answered. 

"  Why  did  you  come  to  me  —  why  do  you  stick  to  me 
now  ?  "  he  said  eagerly. 

"  It's  just  so,"  she  said  nervously.  "  I  can't  help  it. 
I  couldn't  have  let  you  go  out  alone —  Why,  if  you  saw 
a  child  drowning  you'd  have  to  save  it,  wouldn't  you?  " 
He  nodded  gravely.  "  Well,  that's  the  way  with  me.  I 
just  couldn't  be  otherwise." 

"  I  have  taken  heavily  from  you,"  he  said  slowly, 
"  long,  long,  racking  hours,  and  you've  never  complained. 
You  have  given  me  so  much  and  I  have  had  no  right." 

She  smiled. 

"  Those  were  the  happiest  moments." 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  255 

"  And  after  all  that,"  he  said,  "  you  still  want  to  go 
on  — •  giving  to  me  ?  " 

Her  hands  came  together  eagerly  as  she  raised  her  eyes 
in  supplication. 

"  Please  —  oh,  you  wouldn't  take  this  from  me  now!  " 

"  You  don't  know,  child ;  you  don't  know  what  you  are 
undertaking,"  he  said  bitterly. 

"  I  want  it !  " 

"  And  you  do  all  this  because " 

"  I  believe  in  you." 

He  turned  away,  not  quite  satisfied,  and  yet  the  feeling 
of  what  he  had  contemplated  the  day  before  was  so  coldly 
insistent  that  the  revulsion  urged  him  to  cling  to  what 
she  offered. 

"  It's  too  much  to  ask,"  he  said,  hesitating. 

"You  say  that  because  you  do  not  understand!  "  she 
cried,  coming  to  him  eagerly,  her  hand  on  his  shoulder, 
standing  behind  him.  "  You  don't  know  all  it  means  in 
my  life  to  have  the  feeling  of  really  counting."  She 
stopped  as  he  turned,  wondering  if,  at  last,  she  was  going 
to  speak  of  herself.  She  wavered  and  then  continued 
resolutely,  "  It's  all  so  useless  —  being  alone  —  so 
starved !  If  you  knew  what  it  meant  to  me,  to  count,  to 
give  to  some  one,  to  fight  for  something,  you  wouldn't 
talk  of  its  being  hard  on  me." 

He  looked  at  her  and  wondered.  He  had  known 
women  like  her  before,  women  of  the  Northlands  and  the 
Old  World  who  never  complained,  whose  joy  lay  in  sac 
rifice  and  redeeming.  He  thought  of  Pepita,  the  little 
Spanish  model  whose  adoration  he  had  not  suspected  until 
too  late,  and,  thinking  of  Pepita,  he  wondered  about  Inga. 
What  was  the  true  feeling  in  her  —  as  much  as  he  would 
ever  understand  her?  Did  the  girl  love  him?  He 
wanted  to  believe  it  so  keenly,  in  the  weak  reaction  from 
the  dread  decision  of  the  night,  longing  for  something  to 


256  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

cling  to,  that  he  hesitated,  afraid  to  dissipate  a  fragile 
illusion  by  too  brusque  a  question.  Yet,  if  she  did  love 
him?  At  the  very  possibility,  a  new  belief  in  himself 
awoke,  bringing  to  him  that  sensation  of  life  at  its  fullest 
in  the  power  of  inspiring  love. 

She  saw  the  thronging,  tumultuous  thoughts  which 
came  crowding  to  his  eyes,  and  nervously  turned  away. 
Her  retreat  frightened  him,  as  such  trivial  symptoms  can 
instil  terror  in  moments  of  intense  hope.  He  put  his 
hands  over  his  eyes  to  repress  the  too  frank  questioning 
in  them,  and  walked  to  the  window  to  regain  his  calm. 

When  he  came  back  to  her,  determined  to  discuss  mat 
ters  rationally,  he  was  conscious  only  of  a  longing  to  be 
lieve  in  her,  to  go  forth  into  life  and  the  sun  once  more. 
Yet  he  strove  to  be  honest. 

"  This  is  all  very  well  for  now,"  he  said  hurriedly, 
hardly  trusting  his  voice,  "  but  after  —  when  we  are  calm, 
when  we  can  see  things  as  they  are,  when  I  face  what  is 
ahead,  when  you  realize  what  you  have  bound  your  life 
to  —  a  derelict — " 

"  And  if  I  can  make  you  what  you  were  before,"  she 
said,  in  simple  faith. 

"  You  can't  —  men  like  me  don't  come  back,"  he  said 
bitterly,  sinking  into  a  chair.  "  It  isn't  simply  to  live  — 
that's  what  you  must  understand.  It's  —  it's  to  have  the 
power  to  do  what  I  used  to  do,  and  to  do  that,  one  must 
believe  in  oneself;  only  that  is  so  hard  —  once  you've 
lost  it !  " 

"  That  is  what  I  want,  Mr.  Dan,"  she  said  impulsively. 
"  I  feel  what  there  is  in  you.  It  comes  to  me  just  by  your 
being  in  the  room.  I  felt  it  that  first  night,  even  before 
you  opened  your  eyes.  I  couldn't  help  myself.  I  had  to 
come  to  you  to  do  what  you  wanted,  to  serve  you.  Do 
you  think  I'd  have  done  that  if  you  weren't  something 
big,  something  really  worth  while?  " 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  257 

He  looked  at  her,  only  too  impatient  to  be  convinced, 
forgetting  all  his  mental  whys  and  wherefores  in  the  in 
stincts  toward  faith  and  joy  which  came  to  him  in  the 
spell  of  her  intimacy, 

"  I  wanted  to  end  it,"  he  said  wistfully,  yet  already  the 
thing  was  far  away,  incredible.  "  I'd  made  up  my  mind." 

"  Won't  you  let  me  try  ? "  she  cried  passionately. 
"  Mr.  Dan,  let  me  try  —  it  would  be  such  a  big  —  big 
thing  in  my  life!  " 

"  Try,"  he  said  impulsively,  with  a  glad  leap  of  his 
senses,  and,  even  at  this  moment,  it  struck  him  how  in 
congruous,  in  this  sordid  interior,  was  this  sudden  release 
toward  the  beauty  and  the  faith  of  things. 

"  And  now,"  she  said  hurriedly,  "  let's  get  out  of  here 
—  out  of  this  awful  place!  " 

He  sprang  up  hastily,  cursing  himself  for  his  obtuse- 
ness,  and  came  face  to  face  with  the  worn  image  of  him 
self  in  the  murky  mirror.  A  sudden  loathing  seized  him. 

"  Good  Lord,  do  I  look  like  that?"  he  cried. 

"  Come,"  she  said  smilingly.  She  stood  in  the  door 
way,  her  hand  on  the  knob,  opening  the  way  to  him  until 
he  came  and  stood  beside  her,  looking  back  in  revulsion  at 
the  tawdry  room.  "  That's  the  past  —  we'll  shut  it  out 
forever,"  she  said  softly,  and  closed  the  door.  "  Now 
give  me  your  hand." 

The  hallway  was  dark.  She  took  his  hand  and  guided 
him  through  the  musty,  oppressive  darkness  down  the 
creaking,  uncertain  stairs,  never  releasing  her  hold  until 
she  had  found  the  door  and  led  him,  dazzled,  into  the 
mellowness  of  the  day. 

The  lights  were  coming  out  on  the  avenue  one  by  one 
when  they  returned  to  the  Arcade.  He  stopped,  suddenly 
solicitous  of  her,  on  the  point  of  suggesting  that  she  might 
prefer  not  to  be  seen  returning  thus.  But,  when  this  re 
turn  of  the  worldly  instinct  was  phrasing  a  question,  she 


258  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

deliberately  slipped  her  arm  through  his  in  a  closer  inti 
macy.  He  laughed  contentedly. 

"  Why  do  you  laugh?  "  she  said,  waving  her  hand  to 
Myrtle  Popper,  who  was  on  guard  at  Joey  Shine's  win 
dow. 

"  It  was  an  honest  laugh,"  he  said  evasively. 

The  naturalness  and  the  directness  of  her  nature,  the 
simple  force  of  her  emotions,  unfettered  by  self -conscious 
ness,  in  contrast  with  the  worldliness  in  which  he  had 
moved,  overcame  him,  as  the  clear  breath  of  the  open 
fields  sometimes  is  too  overpowering  to  those  who  seek 
it  in  city  weariness. 

And  so,  arm  in  arm,  defiant  of  the  world,  they  re 
turned  to  the  Arcade  where,  only  a  few  hours  before,  he 
had  come  in  despair  and  surrender,  seeing  the  end  of  all 
things.  For  a  moment,  the  whole  pack  of  cringing  doubts 
—  of  himself,  of  her,  of  the  waking  realism  of  the  mor 
row,  of  distrust  for  the  enduring  quality  of  dramatic  mo 
ments  —  doubts  that  often  caused  him  to  laugh  aloud  in 
bitterness,  came  howling  around  him.  Were  the  tingling 
sensations  of  awaking  curiosity,  the  delight  in  singing 
sounds  and  thronging  life,  the  overwhelming  passion  to 
be,  to  know  himself  still  alive,  but  the  mirage  of  a  fool's 
paradise?  She  felt  the  inner  trouble  in  him,  and  drew 
her  arm  closer  to  his,  saying,  with  already  a  beginning 
of  proprietorship: 

"  What  are  you  mumbling  to  yourself  like  that?  " 

"  Call  it  a  prayer,"  he  said,  half  in  earnest,  half  in  jest. 


XXVI 

"  AND  when  in  the  grave 
Her  laddie  they  laid, 
Her  heart  then  broke, 
And  she  fervently  prayed: 
O  God  in  Heaven, 
Let  me  go,  too, 
And  be  wi'  my  laddie  —  so  guid  and  true !  " 

So  sang  Millie  Brewster  in  her  faint,  pleasant  soprano, 
while  O'Leary,  at  the  piano,  nodded  encouragement,  and 
interpolated  brilliant  roulades  into  the  accompaniment. 
The  skylight  was  open  in  deference  to  the  first  warmth  of 
the  spring,  as  March  went  out  like  a  lamb.  Tootles,  in 
overalls,  so  splashed  with  variegated  tints  that  they  might 
have  passed  for  an  impressionistic  landscape,  was  giving 
the  last  tender  touches  to  the  completed  canvas  of  the 
Well-dressed  Man  Contemplated  By  The  Ages.  Schneibel, 
who  had  stolen  up  between  appointments,  in  his  white 
dentist's  coat,  was  dividing  his  admiration  between  the 
contemplation  of  Tootles'  masterpiece  and  that  critical 
attention  which  one  great  singer  bestows  upon  the  per 
formance  of  another.  Mr.  Pomello,  his  high  hat  pushed 
back  from  his  forehead,  his  hands  on  his  cane,  was  sitting 
in  judgment,  with  a  view  to  giving  Millie  a  trial  perform 
ance  at  the  Gloria,  the  moving-picture  theater  below, 
where  King  O'Leary  thundered  nightly  on  the  piano. 
Flick,  who  had  organized  the  demonstration  with  the  ex 
press  intention  of  capturing  Mr.  Pomello,  sat  well  for 
ward,  nodding  his  head  in  a  romantic,  melancholy  way, 
occasionally  clearing  his  throat  to  convey  emotion  re 
pressed  with  difficulty. 


2<5o  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

"  Bravo!  "  said  Tootles  loudly,  when  the  lass  of  bonnie 
Dundee  had  been  laid  away  in  true  ballad  form. 

"  You  had  me  going,"  said  Flick,  rubbing  his  eyes  in 
dustriously,  while  King  O'Leary  patted  the  frightened 
girl  on  the  back  in  rough  encouragement. 

"  How  about  it,  Pomello  ?  "  he  said,  wheeling  on  his 
stool.  "  That  ought  to  take  the  house  by  storm." 

At  this  moment,  a  pounding  was  heard  on  the  wall,  fol 
lowed  by  several  "Bravas!  "  in  Dangerfield's  deep  voice. 

"  I  like  that  better  than  the  first  thing  she  sang,"  said 
Pomello ;  "  got  more  stuff  to  it." 

"  Sure  —  the  first  was  just  fireworks  —  grand-opera 
stuff  —  opens  up  the  voice,"  said  O'Leary. 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  anything  about  singing,  but  I 
know  what  I  like,"  said  Pomello,  who,  by  this  phrase, 
doubly  barred  himself  from  the  sphere  of  the  higher 
criticism.  "  Sing  something  more,  something  senti 
mental." 

"  What  would  you  like?  "  said  Millie. 

Pomello  reflected.     His  acquaintance  was  limited. 

"  Sing  '  The  Rosemary.' ' 

At  the  end  of  the  song  ("  The  Rosary  "  was  then  only 
in  the  beginning  of  its  devastating  march),  which  Millie, 
with  her  eyes  on  O'Leary,  sang  with  surprising  fervor  and 
pathos,  great  tears  \vere  rolling  down  Pomello's  wrinkled 
face.  He  was  delighted.  He  hobbled  over  and  shook 
Millie  by  the  hands,  and  the  engagement  was  ratified,  to 
the  joy  of  every  one. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  his  indecision  had  only  been  a  pre 
tense.  The  question  had  been  decided  from  the  moment 
that  Myrtle  Popper  had  indicated  her  desire.  During 
the  last  month,  Pomello's  infatuation  had  become  public 
property,  though  few,  perhaps,  divined  the  seriousness 
of  it. 

The  party  broke  up,  Schneibel  fired  with  enthusiasm, 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  261 

yodeling  his  way  back  to  the  realities  of  dentistry  (than 
which  nothing  is  more  real),  while  Flick  escorted  Mr. 
Pomello  with  ceremony  to  the  elevator. 

"Well,  Millie,  you're  a  professional  now,  all  right!" 
said  O'Leary,  laughing.  "  Monday  night's  the  night." 

"  I  could  sing  anything  if  you  were  there,"  said  Millie, 
with  a  grateful  glance,  "  when  you're  at  the  piano,  it's 
just  as  though  you  had  your  arm  — "  She  stopped,  con 
fused  at  a  shout  from  Tootles,  who  poked  his  head  around 
the  corner,  saying: 

"  Oh,  don't  mind  me,  Millie!  " 

"  Well,  you  know  what  I  mean,"  said  the  girl,  blushing 
fiery  red  under  O'Leary 's  laughing  eyes.  "  You  just 
make  me  sing." 

"  Sure,  I'll  make  you  sing,  all  right,"  said  O'Leary. 

"  You're  awful  kind,"  said  the  girl,  holding  out  her 
hand.  "  I  know  it  was  you  got  Pomello  interested." 

Now,  O'Leary  had  carefully  concealed  from  her  the 
fact  that  it  was  Myrtle,  who,  in  the  bigness  of  her  heart, 
had  persuaded  him  to  this  act  of  generosity,  divining,  per 
haps,  the  mute  jealousy  slumbering  behind  Millie's  quiet 
looks.  At  this  moment  Myrtle  Popper  came  in  tumultu- 
ously. 

"  Hurrah !  "  she  cried.  "  I've  heard  the  news !  Won't 
it  be  grand?  I'll  make  Pomello  pay  real  hard  cash  too." 

"  You'll  make  him?  "  said  Millie,  drawing  back.  She 
glanced  at  O'Leary,  bit  her  lip,  and  became  suddenly  very 
quiet. 

"  Take  a  look  at  the  great  work,  Myrtle,"  said  Tootles, 
hastily  coming  to  the  rescue.  O'Leary  began  a  furious 
procession  of  ragtime  up  and  down  the  piano,  while 
Myrtle,  unconscious  of  the  jealousy  she  had  aroused, 
passed  behind  the  canvas. 

"  Gee,  but  that'll  go  big!  "  she  said,  in  admiration,  see 
ing  only  her  own  portrait,  which  was  indeed  flattering. 


262  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

u  Pomello  couldn't  take  his  eyes  off  it,"  said  Tootles 
maliciously. 

"Honest,  it's  wonderful!  Say,  isn't  Pansy  cute, 
too?" 

"  Rather  good  of  *  the  baron  ' —  looks  no  end  of  a  swell, 
doesn't  he?  " 

"Sure;  you  ought  to  make  a  million  dollars  out  of 
that !  "  said  Myrtle,  and,  after  a  moment,  she  added, 
"  Couldn't  you  put  a  ring  or  two  on  my  fingers  —  that 
hand  of  mine  looks  awful  bare." 

"  Flick's  got  a  couple  of  the  Ready-Made  magnates 
fighting  for  admission,"  said  Tootles,  ignoring  her  criti 
cism.  "  Soon  as  we  land  one,  won't  we  have  a  celebra 
tion  though!  " 

Meanwhile,  Millie  Brewster  had  leaned  over  O'Leary 
and  whispered : 

"  King,  if  this  is  her  doings,  I  won't  have  a  thing  to  do 
with  it  —  do  you  hear?  I  won't  take  favors  from  her !  " 

"  Thank  you  for  nothing!  "  said  O'Leary,  assuming  an 
offended  air,  while  his  hands  descended  upon  a  resounding 
chord  in  the  bass.  He  managed  to  look  so  fearfully 
angry  that  the  girl's  heart  sank  at  once. 

"  I'm  sorry,"  she  whispered  contritely ;  "  but  I  won't 
be  patronized  by  her." 

"  I  suppose  I  don't  count,"  said  O'Leary,  who  seized 
the  strategic  attitude.  "  Millie,  I'm  ashamed  of  you !  " 

But  at  the  moment  when  the  girl  was  humbly  imploring 
him  with  her  eyes  to  forgive  her,  a  new  bombshell  was 
exploded  by  Myrtle's  emerging  and  saying: 

"  King,  something  I  want  to  say  to  you  —  excuse  me 
everybody !  " 

O'Leary  shrugged  his  shoulders,  arose,  and  followed 
her. 

No  sooner  had  they  left  the  room  than  Tootles  ad 
vanced  with  a  reproachful  air. 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  263 

"  My  dear  girl  —  playing  the  game  wrong  —  that's  not 
the  clever  way!  Keep  him  guessing.  Crude,  very 
crude!" 

"  What  does  she  throw  herself  at  him  that  way  for?  " 
said  Millie  miserably. 

"  Whatever  she  does,  don't  you  make  a  scene,"  said 
Tootles,  still  in  his  superior  manner.  "  Don't  be  such  an 
idiot  as  to  show  your  jealousy." 

"  How  about  you  ?  "  said  the  girl  rebelliously. 

"  Plow  about  me  —  what  do  you  mean,  how  about 
me?" 

"And  Pansy?" 

"  Miss  Pansy  Hartmann  is  nothing  in  my  life,"  said 
Tootles,  classically  cold.  "  I  admire  her,  but  that  is 
all." 

"  Well,  that's  a  blessing  —  for  I  saw  her  yesterday 
lunching  at  Healy's  with  that  Portuguese  lawyer !  " 

"You  saw  her  with  Drinkwater?"  said  Tootles  furi 
ously,  dropping  his  brushes  in  his  excitement. 

"  Yesterday." 

"  And  she  swore  to  me  — "  said  Tootles,  who  began 
struggling  out  of  his  overalls  in  such  indignation  that  the 
rest  of  the  sentence  was  lost. 

"No  use  —  she's  out,"  said  Millie  hastily,  as  Tootles 
bolted  for  the  door. 

"You  saw  her?"  said  Tootles  wildly.  "The  little 
vixen,  and  I  believed  her,  yes,  believed  her  smiling,  treach 
erous  eyes !  " 

"  Mr.  Kidcler,  Mr.  Kidder,"  said  Millie,  now  genuinely 
alarmed  at  the  fury  with  which  Tootles  flung  paints  and 
paint-brushes  on  the  floor  and  stamped  on  them,  "  you 
mustn't  take  on  like  that !  " 

"  That  ends  it  —  this  is  the  end!  "  said  Tootles,  whose 
usually  genial  face  was  contorted  with  rage.  "  I  wouldn't 
believe  her  again  if  she  swore  on  her  mother's  grave." 


264  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

All  at  once,  he  gave  a  prolonged  "  Aha !  "  seized  a 
knife,  and  rushed  to  the  canvas.  The  girl  in  horror  flung 
herself  on  him,  crying  to  him  not  to  destroy  it. 

"  No ;  I  won't  destroy  it,  but  I'll  destroy  her !  "  said 
Tootles  wildly.  "  Let  me  go !  " 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  ?  "  said  Millie,  still  clinging 
to  his  arm. 

"  I'm  going  to  paint  her  out,"  said  Tootles,  as  savagely 
as  though  he  had  said,  "  I'm  going  to  have  her  blood." 

He  flung  away  the  knife,  and,  with  an  exclamation  of 
delight,  sprang  for  his  brushes.  In  five  minutes,  in  place 
of  the  glowing  complexion  of  Pansy  the  tantalizing, 
the  swarthy,  copper-colored  hue  of  an  Ethiopian 
emerged ! 

"  Good  heavens,  what  have  you  done  now  ?  "  exclaimed 
Millie,  aghast. 

"  I  have  blotted  her  image  forever  from  my  memory !  " 
said  Tootles. 

"  You've  ruined  it,"  said  Millie,  wringing  her  hands. 
"  I  didn't  mean  to  tell  you  —  honest,  I  didn't !  " 

Tootles,  without  conveying  to  her  how  easily  the  trans 
formation  could  be  effected  back  to  the  Caucasian,  as 
sumed  the  air  of  one  chastened  by  suffering  and  said 
nobly : 

"  It  is  over.     I  thank  you." 

Meanwhile,  O'Leary  had  followed  Myrtle  into  the  hall, 
rather  puzzled  by  the  anxiety  he  had  read  in  her  look,  not 
at  all  annoyed  at  being  quarreled  over  by  two  pretty 
women. 

"  Suppose  she's  going  to  make  a  scene,  too,"  he  thought. 

But,  to  his  surprise,  Myrtle,  without  seeming  to  have 
taken  the  slightest  notice  of  what  had  just  passed,  said 
directly, 

"  King,  you've  got  to  take  me  out  to  dinner  to-night  — 
alone!" 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  265 

"What's  up?" 

"  I've  just  got  to  talk  to  you.  There's  no  jolly  —  it's 
dead  serious." 

"  Can't  you  tell  me  now?  " 

"  No,  no,"  she  said  hastily  and,  with  some  confusion, 
she  came  closer  and  wound  her  fingers  in  his  coat.  "  I've 
never  asked  you  to  take  me  anywhere  like  this  before, 
have  I?" 

"  No ;  that's  a  fact." 

"  And  you  don't  think  I  would  now  if  there  wasn't 
something  I  just  had  to  talk  over  with  you,"  she  said  im 
pulsively.  "  You're  the  only  living  soul  I  can  come  to 
for  advice,  and  I  need  it  bad  and  quick." 

O'Leary  looked  at  her  and  drew  his  eyes  together. 

"Is  that  straight?" 

"  Dead  straight." 

"  All  right ;  it's  a  go,"  he  said  solemnly.  "  But  I've 
got  to  be  at  the  theater  by  seven-thirty." 

"  I'll  be  ready  in  an  hour." 

He  nodded  acquiescence,  more  and  more  puzzled  by  her 
manner,  and  as  she  ran  down  to  her  manicuring,  he  hesi 
tated  at  the  door  of  his  studio,  made  a  wry  face,  and  went 
down  the  hall  to  Dangerfield's.  The  door  was  open. 
Belle  Shaler  was  on  the  model-stand  in  the  garb  of  a 
street  urchin,  hands  on  her  hips,  hair  tousled,  bare-armed, 
and  throat  revealed  through  the  ragged  blouse.  The 
great  yellow  rug  had  been  rolled  to  one  side,  and  two 
easels  were  pitched.  At  one,  Inga  was  working,  while, 
at  the  other,  Dangerfield  was  filling  in  a  rapid  sketch. 
He  paid  no  attention  to  O'Leary's  entrance,  bending 
eagerly  to  his  work,  clad  in  loose-flowing  corduroy  that 
bore  the  marks  of  a  hundred  skirmishes  of  the  brush,  and 
a  gray-flannel  shirt. 

"  Hello,  King !  Ain't  I  a  Venus  in  these  mud-rags  ?  " 
said  Belle,  with  a  shrug  of  her  shoulders,  for  the  reasons 
of  this  pose,  which  obliterated  her  natural  graces,  were 


266  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

beyond  her  comprehension.     "  Say,  how  did  it  go?     Did 
Millie  land  him?" 

"  Hooked  him  clear  through  the  gills.  Monday's  the 
night." 

"  Hold  that  pose !  "  said  Dangerfield  sharply.  Inga 
sent  a  warning  glance  toward  O'Leary. 

"Scuses!"  said  Belle  hastily.  In  Dangerfield's  pres 
ence  she  was  unaccountably  subdued. 

King  O'Leary  moved  silently  behind  Inga,  with  an  ex 
clamation  of  pleasure  at  the  charm  of  her  arrangement. 
Under  her  deft  fingers,  the  urchin  on  the  model-stand  had 
been  blended  into  the  dainty  color-scheme  for  a  magazine 
cover,  and,  instead  of  the  shabby  reality,  a  fragile,  ideal 
ized  figure  with  grape-vines  and  clustered  purple  grapes 
greeted  his  eyes. 

Then  he  turned  to  Dangerfield's  easel  with  renewed 
curiosity.  Against  the  white  canvas,  a  figure  stood  out 
in  glaring  boldness,  done  in  flowing,  powerful  lines,  a 
figure  all  human  flesh  and  greedy  life,  defiant,  common, 
vital,  astonishing  in  the  power  of  its  ugliness,  which  no 
longer  had  the  quality  of  ugliness,  so  alive  and  instantan 
eous  was  the  unifying  spark  of  the  actual  which  held  it 
together.  And  King  O'Leary  understood. 

"  God,  that's  it!  "  he  exclaimed. 

4<  Rest  —  finished,"  said  Dangerfield.  He  glanced  a 
moment  at  the  sketch  and  turned  away  without  further 
interest. 

Belle  Shaler  strolled  down,  gave  a  look  at  the  canvas, 
whistled,  and  sauntered  over  to  Inga.  It  was  plain  to  see 
which  picture  she  preferred.  Mr.  Cornelius,  who  had 
been  curled  up  in  an  easy  chair  reading,  came  up,  smiling 
and  nodding. 

"  What  strength  of  a  brute,  and  still  what  finesse,  eh?  " 
he  said,  admiring  it  as  a  true  connoisseur. 

O'Leary  nodded  silently,  and  was  joined  by  Belle,  who 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  267 

tried  to  comprehend  what  they  could  see  in  it,  not  realiz 
ing  that  the  artist  had  revealed  to  them  secrets  of  which 
she  herself  was  ignorant,  the  soul  of  a  child  of  the  people, 
tolerant  of  hardships  and  tragedies,  smiling  down  the 
giant,  useless  fabrics  of  conventions  and  laws,  fatalist  and 
stoic,  indomitable  in  her  curiosity  and  enjoyment. 

"  He's  coming  back  fast,"  thought  O'Leary,  watching 
from  the  corner  of  his  eye  the  sea-blue  eyes  of  Inga  light 
ing  up  with  an  overwhelming  joy. 

Dangerfield  returned  for  a  second  inspection,  head  on 
one  side,  his  thumb  to  his  teeth.  He  started  to  take  up 
a  charcoal,  then  shook  his  head,  and,  lifting  the  canvas, 
put  it  aside. 

"  Yes;  she's  bringing  him  around,"  said  O'Leary  wisely 
to  himself.  "No  doubt  about  it  —  but  he's  far  from 
tame  yet." 


XXVII 

AT  six  o'clock,  Myrtle  Popper  tucked  her  arm  under 
King  O'Leary's  and  tripped  out  as  joyfully  as  though  she 
were  carrying  him  away  forever  into  regions  of  blue  skies 
and  green  islands. 

"  Now  you've  got  me,  where  are  you  going  to  take  me, 
or,  rather,  where  am  I  going  to  take  you  ?  "  said  O'Leary 
warily,  for  he  had  pondered  much  over  the  object  of  the 
evening  and  had  become  suspicious.  Myrtle's  light- 
heartedness  and  her  eagerness  did  not  fit  exactly  into  the 
role  of  a  maiden  in  distress.  Still,  you  could  never  tell 
with  women. 

"  Sure,  are  you  objectin'  to  a  good-looking  girl  hanging 
on  your  arm,"  said  Myrtle,  laughing  with  the  delight  of 
having  accomplished  her  object.  "  Shall  we  go  down  the 
stairs  or  wait  for  that  poky  old  elevator  ?  " 

"  Thank  you ;  we'll  take  the  elevator,"  said  O'Leary 
hastily.  "  You're  a  deal  too  dashing  and  flashing  to 
night,  Myrtle  darlin'." 

"Now,  just  what  are  you  insinuatin'  by  that?"  said 
the  girl,  her  glowing  eyes  belying  the  sternness  of  her 
words. 

"  I  mean  that  I  wouldn't  be  down  the  first  flight  but  my 
arm  would  be  slipping  around  your  waist.  Now,  don't 
be  looking  at  me  like  that;  it's  yourself  is  to  blame." 

The  color  came  suddenly  into  her  cheeks. 

"You  don't  really  care?"  she  said  softly. 

King  O'Leary  laughed  and  pressed  the  electric  button 
a  second  time  so  that  the  buzzing  sound  filled  the  shaft, 
while  his  companion  stamped  her  foot  and  turned  away 
petulantly. 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  269 

Sassafras  emerged  with  rolling  eyes. 

"Our  chauffeur  is  waiting?"  said  O'Leary,  adopting 
the  methods  of  Tootles. 

"  Yassir  —  yassir,"  said  Sassafras,  whom  nothing  as 
tonished.  "  And  Mrs.  Van  Astorbilt  am  reclinin'  in  de 
car." 

"Well,  what  are  you  going  to  do  with  me?"  said 
O'Leary,  continuing  in  the  light  tone  as  a  precautionary 
measure  until  the  attack  had  shown  its  purpose. 

"Do  I  have  to  tell  you  where  to  dine?"  said  Myrtle 
scornfully. 

O'Leary  performed  a  careful  search  of  his  pockets. 

"  We  might  buck  the  high  places,  if  you  ain't  too  raven 
ous!" 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders,  and,  disdaining  to  answer 
his  levity,  led  him  down  Columbus  Avenue  to  Rossi's, 
where,  it  being  early,  they  found  a  deserted  corner,  and 
O'Leary  took  up  the  menu  with  an  occasional  stolen 
glance  at  his  companion,  who  had  become  strangely 
silent. 

"  Minestrone  and  —  hello,  here's  luck !  "  he  said. 
"  Gnocci  Milanese!  Ever  tasted  them?  They're 
grand ! " 

"All  right;  I  don't  care,"  said  the  girl,  without  shift 
ing  her  eyes. 

"  Ravioli  and  a  sweet,  and  don't  annoy  us  with  any 
olives,"  said  O'Leary  to  the  waiter.  "  Quite  a  place !  " 

He  turned  for  an  inspection  of  the  restaurant  known 
to  a  chosen  few.  Across  the  room,  a  party  of  Italians 
and  Spaniards  from  the  Opera  were  finishing  an  early 
supper. 

"  Say,  that's  Marino  and  de  Segga,"  said  O'Leary,  in 
a  whisper,  indicating  the  reigning  tenor  and  the  famous 
baritone. 

"  I  don't  care,"  said  his  companion  sharply. 


270  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

King  O'Leary,  perceiving  that  the  issue  could  no  longer 
be  avoided,  said : 

"  Say,  you  do  look  awful  serious/' 

"  I  told  you  it  was  serious,  didn't  I  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  and  you've  got  me  guessing !  " 

Something  in  his  tone  made  her  draw  back  and  con 
sider.  Presently  she  said : 

"  Wonder  just  what  you  thought  I  could  have  meant  by 
—  serious!  " 

O'Leary  balanced  his  knife  on  his  finger  thoughtfully, 
and  finally  decided  to  answer. 

"  I  was  kind  of  worried." 

"How  so?" 

"  Well,  I  didn't  know,"  he  said  slowly,  "  but  what  you 
might  have  been  getting  in  —  in  too  deep." 

"Into  trouble?" 

"  Yes;  into  trouble  —  you  see  a  queer  side  of  life.  It 
isn't  every  girl  can  steer  a  clear  course." 

"  Yes ;  I've  taken  chances,"  she  said  and  stopped.  She 
looked  at  him  with  anxious  scrutiny.  "  King,  suppose  it 
were  so?" 

"What  do  you  mean?"  he  said,  frowning. 

"  Suppose  I  have  got  in  too  deep  —  deeper  than  I  mean 
to  go  ? "  She  looked  down  at  her  hands.  "  What 
then?" 

He  looked  up  sharply,  then  smiled. 

"  It  ain't  so." 

"Suppose  it  were?"  she  said  breathlessly. 

"  It  ain't  so,"  he  repeated  quietly.  He  leaned  over  and 
patted  her  hand.  "  I  know  you,  girl ;  you're  not  that  kind." 

"  There's  lots  of  temptations." 

"  Not  for  you,"  he  said,  reassured  in  his  conviction. 
"  You're  straight,  and  you've  got  a  good  head  on  your 
shoulders." 

"  That  doesn't  always  hold." 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  271 

"  It  does  with  you.  Whatever  you'll  do,  Myrtle,  you'll 
do  just  what  you've  planned  out  and  \vhat  your  head  tells 
you  to  do." 

"  I  don't  know  as  I  like  that,"  she  said,  frowning  at  the 
implication  that  she  was  not  of  feminine  frailty. 

"  Well,  it's  true." 

"You  don't  think  I  can  be  carried  away,  then?"  she 
said,  with  a  heightened  flush.  "  You're  the  last  to  say 
that." 

Luckily,  the  arrival  of  the  minestrone  broke  in  upon  a 
delicate  subject,  and  the  conversation,  subject  to  the  cen 
sorship  of  the  waiter,  became  desultory.  Dinner  over, 
she  leaned  forward,  her  elbows  on  the  table,  her  eyes  full 
on  his  face,  and  said : 

"King,  shall  I  marry  Mr.  Pomello?" 

He  was  so  astonished  that  she  herself  could  not  repress 
a  smile. 

"  Say  that  again,"  he  said,  bewildered. 

"  I  want  your  advice.  Ought  I  to  marry  Mr.  Po 
mello?" 

"  What  the  devil  do  you  want  to  marry  an  old  crutch 
for  ?  "  he  said,  more  irritated  than  he  would  have  believed 
possible.  "  Has  he  asked  you  ?  " 

"  Twenty  times  —  I've  been  putting  him  off.  It's  got 
to  be  yes  or  no  to-night,  and  that's  no  jolly.  It's  take  it 
or  leave  it." 

"  Why  the  deuce  do  you  come  to  me?  " 

"  Because,"  she  said  softly,  "  you're  the  only  one  I  can 
go  to,  and,  King,  it's  a  big  decision." 

"  I  don't  see  why  you  want  to  marry  him,"  he  said 
slowly.  "  He's  got  money,  I  suppose."  She  nodded. 
"Much?" 

"  How  much  should  you  say  ?  " 

"  Oh,  forty  or  fifty  thousand." 

"  More  than  that." 


272  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

"  A  hundred." 

"  Higher." 

"Come  off!" 

"  King,  Mr.  Pomello's  worth  between  three  and  four 
hundred  thousand.  Say,  I'm  not  throwing  a  bluff. 
Straight  goods.  He  told  me  so,  offered  to  prove  it." 

"  How  the  devil " 

"  Made  it  in  moving  pictures.  He  got  in  on  the  ground 
floor,  and,  King,  if  I  marry  him,  he'll  make  a  will  and 
leave  it  all  to  me." 

O'Leary  was  silent,  staring  at  her.  The  thought  of 
the  price  she  might  command  seemed  to  make  her  a  thou 
sand  times  more  desirable.  He  even  felt  a  pang  of  jeal 
ousy. 

"  Gee,  this  is  serious !  "  he  said,  and,  being  in  a  quan 
dary,  he  rapped  loudly  on  the  table  and  selected  the  big 
gest  cigar  which  was  brought  him. 

Myrtle  Popper  was  watching  him  with  excited  glance, 
her  breath  coming  and  going  more  rapidly  as  she  noted 
the  perturbation  caused  by  the  announcement. 

"  Of  course,  it  ain't  a  question  of  love/'  he  said  more 
quietly,  as  he  felt  himself  fortified  behind  a  cloud  of 
fragrant  smoke. 

"  Not  on  my  part." 

"  Do  you  think  you  can  carry  it  through  ?  "  he  said, 
with  frank  curiosity.  Down  in  his  heart  he  was  wonder 
ing  at  the  insensibility  of  women  in  the  very  things  in 
which  men  give  them  the  greatest  reverence. 

"  He's  kind,  very  kind,"  she  said,  reflecting.  "  He'll 
do  anything  I  want,  and,  King,  it  sounds  cold-blooded  — 
but  he's  over  sixty,  and  he  ain't  strong  at  that." 

"Gee!"  said  O'Leary. 

Neither  spoke  for  a  long  moment. 

"  It  is  cold-blooded,"  he  said,  at  last. 

"  It's   a  bargain,"   she  said  abruptly,    shrugging  her 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  273 

shoulders.  "  He  wants  me ;  he's  getting  what  he  wants. 
If  he  sees  it  that  way,  why,  it's  square  enough." 

"  Does  he  see  it  that  way?  " 

"  I've  been  honest.  I've  told  him  what  I  tell  you.  It's 
understood  like  that  between  us." 

"  Why  do  you  even  hesitate?  "  he  said. 

She  stared  beyond  him. 

"  It  would  be  hard,"  she  said  simply,  and  looked  at  him 
with  half-closed  eyes. 

He  was  so  astonished  at  the  disclosure  that  she  had 
made  that  he  felt  like  repeating  his  questions,  to  convince 
himself  that  what  she  had  told  him  could  be  true,  that 
this  girl  manicurist  from  Joey  Shine's  barber  shop  could, 
for  a  nod  of  her  head,  leap  forward  a  dozen  generations. 

"  Well,  I'll  be  damned !  "  he  said,  at  last. 

"  I  don't  suppose  many  girls  in  my  position  would  have 
put  him  off  this  way,"  she  said  meditatively.  "  There 
ain't  much  to  look  ahead  to  in  the  manicuring  line  —  a 
few  years  of  good  looks  and  being  taken  out,  and  then 
just  sitting  around." 

"  And  if  you  marry,  why,  it  means  even  more  work, 
don't  it,"  he  said,  "  cooking  and  the  housework  —  and  the 
kids.  No ;  I  can't  see  as  there  are  two  sides  to  it." 

"  There  are  two  sides,  though,"  she  said,  and  she  drew 
a  great  breath  that  went  through  her  young,  glorious 
body.  She  drew  back  and  stretched  out  her  arms  as 
though  every  muscle  had  risen  in  protest.  "  But  a  girl 
can't  be  doing  the  askin',  you  see." 

He  remained  frowning  at  the  cloth  so  long  that  she 
said: 

"  Did  you  hear  what  I  said?  " 

He  nodded. 

"  And  you  remember  what  I  said  to  you  that  afternoon 
about  settling  down  and  home  and  all  the  rest?  " 

"The  afternoon  I  kissed  you?" 


274  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

Her  face  went  red,  and  she  turned  away  all  at  once. 
A  wave  of  pity  went  through  him  that  he  should  have 
been  tempted  by  his  vanity,  for  he  knew  that  it  lay  no 
deeper  than  that.  He  swore  at  himself  and  said: 

"  So  you've  come  to  me  for  advice?  " 

She  turned  quickly. 

"And  what  do  you  say?"  she  said,  so  low  that  he 
could  scarcely  distinguish  it. 

"  Do  you  mean  if  I  told  you  not  to  do  it,  you'd  chuck 
it  to  the  winds?" 

She  started  twice  to  answer  and  stopped.  Finally,  she 
said: 

"  If  you  told  me  your  reason  —  I  would." 

"  Myrtle,  you  did  right  to  come  to  me,"  he  said  de 
cisively.  "  This  is  my  answer :  Placed  as  you  are,  with 
what's  ahead,  there's  no  two  ways  about  it  —  it's  too  big, 
too  wonderful.  Marry  him !  " 

She  did  not  move.  The  words  seemed  to  have  left  so 
little  impression  on  her  that  he  was  wondering  if  she  had 
understood  them,  when,  all  at  once,  she  looked  up  and  said  : 

"You  mean  that?" 

"  I  do." 

She  rose,  nodded  to  him  to  follow,  and  went  out  of  the 
restaurant.  They  walked  home  in  silence,  and  she  did  not 
take  his  arm.  In  the  Arcade,  by  the  brass  entrance  of  the 
Gloria  Theater,  he  turned  to  her  abruptly,  conscience- 
stricken,  and  yet  fortified  by  the  thought  that  he  had  been 
square  enough  not  to  stand  in  her  way. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  say  to  him?"  he  said  anx 
iously,  taking  the  hand  which  she  gave  him  heavily. 
She  turned  and  he  saw  that  her  eyes  were  filled  with  tears. 

"Look  here,"  he  said  miserably;  "I've  been  honest 
with  you,  Myrtle." 

"  Yes;  you've  been  that,"  she  said,  and,  with  a  nod,  she 
hurried  away. 


XXVIII 

KING  O'LEARY  had  made  no  mistake.  Dangerfield 
was  far  from  being  tamed,  and  no  one  understood  it  bet 
ter  than  Inga  Sonderson.  The  day  after  their  return  to 
the  Arcade  had  come  the  revulsion  she  had  feared.  When 
she  had  entered,  he  had  looked  up  without  sign  of  recog 
nition  and  turned  moodily  to  the  solitaire  which  lay  spread 
before  him.  She  remained  half  an  hour  without  a  word 
passing  between  them.  She  went  out  and  presently  re 
turned  with  a  mass  of  yellow  roses,  which  she  distributed 
about  the  room,  and  resumed  her  waiting  attitude.  Fi 
nally  he  said : 

"Seen  the  papers?" 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  though  she  knew  only  of  the  sen 
sational  details  of  the  Garford  history  through  Belle 
Shaler.  But  she  did  not  wish  to  have  him  discuss  them, 
for  she  comprehended  how  keenly  the  man  must  be  suf 
fering  in  his  vanity. 

He  laughed  his  short,  bitter  laugh,  the  laugh  which 
sounded  like  the  bark  of  some  wild  animal,  which  was 
characteristic  of  his  rebellious  moods.  To  her,  it  was 
always  a  danger-signal.  She  rose  and,  moving  easily, 
stood  before  him,  young,  awake,  and  smiling.  He  con 
sidered  her  thus  with  set  glance,  plainly  resentful. 

"  Wonder  if  you  know  what  I'm  thinking,"  he  said, 
at  last. 

"  I  think  I  do.  To-day  you  must  hate  me,"  she  said 
solemnly.  "  I'm  sorry." 

His  face  showed  too  much  surprise. 

"  No ;  I  don't  hate  you,"  he  said  shortly,  "  not  you  — 
all  the  rest." 


276  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

"  Yes ;  me,  too/'  she  insisted.  "  I  don't  mind.  I  un 
derstand  it." 

He  rose  without  notice  of  the  flowers  she  had  brought 
in  timid  offering,  and,  going  to  the  desk,  took  up  a  news 
paper,  stared  at  it,  and  handed  it  to  her.  She  glanced 
at  it  long  enough  to  get  the  full  significance  of  the  photo 
graph  and  the  head-lines: 

DAN   GARFORD   IN   THE 
LIMELIGHT  AGAIN 

Then  she  .deliberately  tore  it  into  pieces  and  threw  it 
into  the  waste-basket. 

"  It's  time  for  lunch ;  let's  go  out."  He  shook  his 
head.  The  suggestion  irritated  him.  "  The  walk  will  do 
you  good." 

"  Are  you  going  to  order  me  around  ?  "  he  said,  frown 
ing. 

"  To-day,  yes,  because  you  can't  make  up  your  mind," 
she  said,  coming  to  him  with  his  coat.  It  was  rarely  that 
she  took  a  determined  stand.  He  turned,  resenting  it. 

"  We  must  come  to  an  understanding,"  he  said  irri- 
tatedly.  "  I  don't  intend  to  be  told  to  do  this  and  do  that. 
If  I  want  to  cut  loose,  go  wild,  I'm  going  to  do  it! " 

She  faced  him  resolutely. 

"  Don't  worry ;  I'm  not  asking  you  to  do  anything  — 
no  promises."  She  considered  a  moment,  and  corrected 
herself  with  a  smile.  "  Only  one  promise." 

He  drew  back,  prepared  for  an  issue,  frowning. 

"What  one?" 

"  Whatever  you  do,  wherever  you  go,  I  am  to  go  with 
you." 

He  glanced  at  her  sharply  —  the  blurred  look  on  his 
face  that  she  dreaded. 

"  What !  Even  nights  like  night  before  last !  "  he  said 
cunningly.  That  inward  struggle  which  he  had  been 


Then  she  deliberately  tore  it  into  pieces.     Page  276. 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  277 

fighting  all  morning  completely  transformed  the  usual 
kindly  look  in  his  eyes,  bringing  back  the  glare  of  a  caged 
animal. 

"  Especially  nights  when  it's  hard,"  she  said,  in  her  low, 
musical  voice. 

He  laughed. 

"There'll  be  a  lot  of  those!" 

"  I  know  there  must  be,"  she  said,  laying  her  hand  on 
his  arm  as  though  to  calm  him.  "  Perhaps  it's  best  that 
you  should  let  go  sometimes  —  at  first." 

"  What !  "  he  said  loudly.  Then  he  laughed  again ;  but 
already  under  the  controlling  pressure  of  her  hand,  the 
laugh  had  a  softer  note.  "  So  you're  not  going  to  reform 
me?" 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  No,  no !  "  She  thought  a  moment,  "  I'm  just  here  to. 
help  —  when  you  need  me." 

He  was  so  surprised  at  this  unexpected  attitude  that  he 
walked  up  and  down,  deliberating.  Finally,  he  turned 
and  stared  at  her. 

"  I  understand  you  less  than  ever." 

She  smiled  and  shook  her  head. 

"  I'm  not  so  difficult." 

"  Well,  what  do  you  want  me  to  do  now  ?  " 

"  I  want  to  get  you  away  from  here.' 

He  took  up  his  things  and  followed  her  moodily.  He 
was  thinking  of  the  head-lines  which  had  startled  him,  of 
the  mockery  of  the  truth  which  had  been  published. 
Whenever  they  passed  a  news-stand,  his  glance  went  fur 
tively  to  the  papers  displayed,  dreading  to  see  his  name  in 
the  black,  leaded  spreads.  She  guessed  this  shrinking 
within  him,  and  changed  her  position  to  shield  him. 
Curiously  enough,  his  mood  led  him  toward  the  river 
front,  over  the  route  past  the  gas-towers,  where  they 
had  gone  in  the  silences  of  the  night.  If  he  remembered 


278  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

anything  of  that   fantastic  journey,   he   gave  no   sign. 

They  wandered  by  the  docks  amid  a  confusion  of 
trucks,  greeted  by  strong,  pungent  smells,  lingering  lazily 
on  a  packing-case  to  watch  the  cranes,  sweeping  up  their 
cargoes  for  foreign  ports.  Late  in  the  afternoon  they 
stopped  in  a  sanded-floored  restaurant  for  a  bite  of  lunch 
eon.  A  few  loitering  groups  were  at  the  tables,  sailors 
in  jerseys,  with  down-turned  pipes  and  ruddy  faces 
worked  by  sea  and  wind,  queer  types  of  briny  adven 
turers. 

Inga  drew  his  attention  to  the  men. 

"  Sometime  you  must  paint  a  group  like  that.  Wish 
I  could, "  she  said,  her  eyes  dwelling  on  the  strong  masses 
and  deep  colors.  "  There's  so  much  in  New  York  — 
isn't  there?  —  if  you'll  only  look." 

He  looked  up,  and,  being  in  a  momentary  mood  of  tol 
erant  amusement,  smiled  at  her  artifice. 

"  Want  me  to  be  a  painter  of  the  slums?  " 

"  Why  not?  "  she  said  defiantly.  "  Isn't  it  realer  than 
painting  pretty  pictures  —  simpering,  sugary  women  — 
the  same  old  thing  again  and  again?  Oh,  if  I  were  a 
man  who  could  —  who  really  could  do  what  I  wanted  — 
I'd  love  it  —  to  get  down  into  the  people  themselves,  to 
reflect  what's  going  on  below,  the  color  and  the  soul  of 
the  people!  It's  only  in  places  like  this,  where  life  is 
natural,  that  you  feel  one  thing  is  different  from  an^ 
other!" 

"  What  a  long  speech !  "  he  said,  with  an  amused  look. 
Then  he  turned  serious  and  thoughtful.  "  Good  sense 
—  you  don't  talk  much,  but  when  you  do " 

He  nodded  to  himself,  put  out  his  hand,  patted  hers, 
and,  though  he  said  no  more,  he  began  whistling  to  him 
self,  his  head  aslant,  his  eyes  narrowing  as  he  studied  the 
group  across  the  sanded  floor. 

Then  there  were  the  dark  moments,  feverish  days  of 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  279 

aimlessness  and  regret,  of  heavy  forget  fulness,  long  pe 
riods  of  taciturnity,  with  sudden,  irrelevant  speech  — 
speech  that  came  without  warning,  which  seemed  rather 
the  man  in  the  mists  of  his  groping,  taking  counsel  with 
himself.  Sometimes  what  he  said  \vas  only  querulous, 
thrown  out  in  anger  or  bitter  self-hatred.  At  other  times 
he  seemed  to  be  standing  off  and  looking  at  himself,  view 
ing  his  past  dispassionately,  analyzing  his  career  without 
prejudice.  Once  he  said  to  her,  as  they  sat  \vaiting  for 
the  dusk  to  enter  the  studio : 

"  Some  people  like  life,  like  it  for  the  sake  of  living  — 
at  least,  I  suppose  it's  that  —  to  find  your  rut  and  run  on 
it  smoothly,  the  same  thing  to-day  as  yesterday  —  rou 
tine." 

"  Most  are  like  that,"  she  said,  not  yet  seeing  where  he 
wished  to  come. 

"  Most  —  yes.  But  if  you're  not  satisfied  with  that  — 
if  you  want  something  —  want  to  create  something,  to  get 
somewhere  —  to  some  fixed  object,  then  you've  got  to 
face  the  thing  in  the  end." 

"What  thing?" 

"  The  fact  that  youVe  got  to  recognize  to  yourself, 
whatever  you're  hoping  for,  that  you've  gone  as  far  as 
you  can  go."  He  thought  a  moment.  "If  you  could 
only  fool  yourself!  Some  do  —  that's  where  conceit 
comes  in  —  a  mighty  saving  quality  that,  to  be  wrapped 
up  in  vanity,  not  to  know  when  you've  stopped." 

She  was  so  puzzled  by  this  and  the  tense  introspection 
which  she  felt  in  him  that  she  ventured  a  question. 

"  What  are  you  talking  about,  Mr.  Dan?  " 

He  turned  and  said : 

"  Remember  once  I  told  you  how  I  used  to  climb  up 
Montmartre  and  look  down  on  Paris,  and  believe  the  day 
would  come  when  I'd  set  them  all  talking  about  me  — 
when  I  believed  I  was  going  to  be  a  great  man  ?  " 


280  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

She  came  and  settled  on  the  ground  beside  him  as  he  sat 
in  the  great  armchair,  looking  gravely  into  his  face. 

"Remember?" 

She  nodded. 

"  Well,  it's  great  to  believe  that,  even  for  a  year,  to  be 
working  passionately,  hungrily,  sure  of  where  you're 
going,"  he  said,  smiling  back  into  the  past.  "  It's  worth 
—  even  what  comes  after.  But  you  pay  for  it  —  Lord, 
but  you  pay  for  it!  —  when  you  look  at  yourself  in  the 
end,  and  know  the  time's  to  come  when  you've  got  to 
stand  still  and  watch  others  go  on." 

"  But  you  are  going  on  —  you  are !  " 

He  took  her  head  in  his  hands,  as  she  sat  there  close 
to  him,  and  said : 

"If  you  could  only  make  me  believe  that,  child  —  if 
you  could  even  fool  me  into  believing  that  —  you  might 
get  hold  of  me.  You  see,  that's  what  you're  up  against. 
There's  nothing  to  get  to.  Oh,  the  rest  doesn't  count! 
I've  had  notoriety,  what  some  people  call  fame.  Do  you 
think  it  means  anything  to  me  to  paint  what  I  have  been 
painting,  do  it  over  again  and  again  ?  "  He  shook  his 
head.  "  It's  not  the  knocks  that's  the  trouble.  No ;  I'll 
be  honest.  If  this  —  this  thing  that's  ended  had  come  ten 
years  —  five  years  ago,  it  might  have  done  me  good." 

She  nodded  her  head  eagerly. 

"  It  will  now  —  I  know  it !  " 

"  No ;  not  now.  It  wasn't  what  others  did  to  me ;  it 
was  what  I  did  to  myself.  Five  years  ago,  I  should  have 
run  away;  I  should  have  been  cruel.  I  didn't.  I  was  a 
sentimentalist.  I  didn't  want  to  do  another  harm.  I 
stayed  and  sacrificed  the  other  thing  —  the  thing  that 
can't  be  shared.  I  made  my  choice  then;  now  it  is  too 
late." 

"  But  why  ?     You  can  work  now  as  you  want." 

"  Yes ;  but  the  power  to  dream  isn't  there,  and  that's 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  281 

the  whole  of  it.  And  that  doesn't  come  —  it  just  doesn't 
seem  to  come,"  he  said  nervously,  his  hands  -twisting,  and 
a  blank  look  coming  across  his  eyes. 

She  understood  now  the  depth  of  the  task  before  her, 
as  she  understood,  too,  how  much  he  wanted  to  disbelieve 
the  things  he  announced.  And  there  rose  before  her 
clearly  that  the  only  way  to  reclaim  him  was  to  put  a  pur 
pose  into  his  aimless  life. 

"  Mr.  Dan,"  she  said  softly. 

His  eyes  came  back  to  hers. 

"  Pretty  hard  task  you've  got,  Inga." 

"  Please  be  patient  —  just  a  while  longer.  I  know  it'll 
all  come  back." 

"  Wish  you  were  right." 

"  It  will ;  it  will.  I've  even  seen  it  in  your  eyes,  the 
way  you  look  at  things,  that  group  in  the  restaurant,  the 
old  woman  with  the  newspapers." 

"  Seeing  is  one  thing;  doing  is  another." 

"  But  why  don't  you  try  ?  "  she  said  hesitatingly.  At 
this,  he  turned  and  glanced  longingly  at  the  easel  in  the 
corner. 

"Oh,  if  you  only  would!  I'd  pose  for  you  all  day 
long !  "  she  cried  eagerly. 

But  at  this  he  shrank  back,  a  tortured,  doubting  look 
passed  over  his  face,  and  he  sprang  up  angrily,  crying, 

"No,  no,  no!" 

At  other  times,  he  would  fix  his  dull  glance  on  her  and 
say,  without  kindness : 

"  See  what  you've  dragged  me  back  to !  " 

These  were  the  secret  black  hours,  when  he  lay  in  stupor 
after  periods  of  heavy,  obstinate  drinking.  For  some 
thing  had  come  which  frightened  him.  He  had  boasted, 
in  the  wild  days  when  he  was  new  to  the  Arcade,  that  he 
did  what  he  did  because  he  wanted  to  do  it,  proclaiming 
scornfully  that  he  could  stop  it  whenever  he  chose.  And, 


282  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

in  his  pride,  he  believed  this.  Now  he  came  to  the  fright 
ened  realization  that  this  was  no  longer  true,  and  that 
there  lay  before  him  a  struggle  against  a  dark  and  shape 
less  enemy  which  filled  the  day  with  its  crushing  shadow. 

At  first,  he  deluded  himself  with  the  thought  that  he 
was  seeking  relief,  a  numbed  forgetfulness  out  of  the 
vacant  world  —  that  it  was  his  right  to  escape  the  depres 
sion  in  his  soul,  and  that  this  seeking  was  deliberate. 
This  delusion  was  the  stronger  in  that  he  believed  he  was 
testing  the  girl,  challenging  her  right  to  reclaim  him  by  a 
last  obstinate  rebellion.  But  Inga,  neither  by  word  nor 
expression,  made  the  slightest  criticism.  This  patient 
acquiescence,  this  mute  devotion  that  followed  \vhere  he 
went  and  watched  the  inevitable  moment  when  he  called 
her  in  his  weakness,  at  first  surprised  him  and  then  awoke 
his  latent  chivalry. 

The  day  came  when,  in  remorse,  he  turned  to  take  up 
the  fight  himself.  Then  he  found  that  the  dark  com 
panion  that  he  had  called  upon  so  often  to  shut  out  the 
aching  reality  could  no  longer  be  thrown  aside,  that,  in 
stead  of  a  servant,  he  had  found  a  master.  He  found 
himself  gripped  in  with  a  hunger  he  had  not  realized.  At 
times,  frightened,  he  recoiled  and  sought  to  struggle,  as 
though  his  body  were  sinking  into  a  lurking  quicksand 
that  drew  him  down,  down,  and  ever  down. 

There  was  yet  a  darker  thing  which  hung  shapelessly 
in  this  gradually  settling  obscurity,  a  thing  of  dread  that 
waited  beside  the  other  shadowy  comforter.  For,  at 
times,  he  came  struggling  back  to  life  with  a  feeling  of 
blurred,  vacant  spaces  behind,  where  something  had 
slipped  from  him,  when  he  had  been  but  a  shell  inhabited 
by  muddled  desires  and  gropings. 

These  were  days  of  rough  going,  of  tense  straining  on 
every  nerve  of  the  girl  who  watched  him.  Strange,  op 
posite  flashes,  the  sublime  and  the  ridiculous  of  the  man's 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  283 

soul,  shifted  and  whirled  before  her.  At  times,  from 
long  periods  of  inner  torment,  there  came  a.  sudden  pitch 
of  exaltation,  wild,  colorful  moments  of  eloquence,  when 
he  discoursed  on  life  and  art,  justice  and  morality,  when 
he  analyzed  mercilessly  established  prejudices  and  beat 
through  to  a  clearer  verity  —  when  she  listened  breath 
lessly,  enthralled  at  his  dramatic  tossings.  Then,  when 
the  prophetic  rage  had  passed  in  its  fine  fury,  the  reaction 
would  come,  and  for  hours  he  would  lie  clinging  to  her 
hand,  shuddering  in  the  dark  at  terrors  he  did  not  dare  to 
phrase.  These  moments  of  groping  weakness,  of  inter 
mingled  bombast,  wisdom,  and  cringing  brought  her  al 
ways  to  the  same  impasse  —  either  she  must  instil  some 
object  into  this  denial  of  life,  or  see  him  slowly  crumble, 
morally  and  physically,  before  her  eyes. 


XXIX 

How  did  she  manage  to  reclaim  him?  In  part  by  the 
unquestioning  service  which  she  yielded  him,  without 
weariness  or  discouragement,  until,  out  of  pity  for  her,  he 
began  to  fight  with  himself,  and,  in  a  minor  degree, 
through  unforeseen  influences,  trivial  in  themselves,  yet 
working  together  to  restore  his  interest  in  those  who  lived 
about  him.  Tootles  and  the  difficulties  of  his  master 
piece  drew  from  him  a  wild  outburst  of  laughter,  but  he 
stayed  to  criticize  and  suggest,  until  gradually  he  came  to 
the  moment  when,  in  his  amused  enthusiasm,  he  took  up 
the  brush  himself.  He  had  come  to  the  point  now  where 
he  could  not  bear  to  be  alone,  never  content  unless  Inga 
were  at  his  side.  She  transported  her  easel  into  his  stu 
dio  for  the  morning's  work,  with  Belle  Shaler  serving  as 
model  for  the  magazine  covers  which  she  drew  with  a 
certain  deftness  and  charm. 

During  the  first  mornings,  Dangerfield  paid  them  scant 
attention  beyond  an  occasional  glance.  The  third  day, 
he  criticized  a  pose  of  Belle  Shaler's,  and  rose  to  superin 
tend  the  readjustment.  Then  he  glanced  at  Inga's  work 
and  nodded. 

"  Pretty  and  delicate." 

The  second  week,  Belle  being  engaged  elsewhere,  Inga 
had  recourse  to  a  model  she  sometimes  used,  an  Italian 
mother,  heavy  and  a  bit  dowdy,  but  picturesque  and  vital. 
He  noticed  the  substitution  with  surprise  and  a  long,  con 
templative  stare.  All  at  once  he  sprang  up,  brought  out 
his  easel,  took  a  canvas,  and  began  to  draw.  Inga,  afraid 
to  notice  this  unhoped-for  development  even  by  a  word, 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  285 

continued  a  simulation  of  work  while  watching  him  from 
the  corners  of  her  eyes.  He  worked  rapidly,  humming 
to  himself,  frowning  occasionally  and  stepping  back  to 
study  the  result  with  dissatisfied  glances.  In  the  end,  he 
stood  back,  his  head  on  one  side,  scowling. 

"  Atrocious !  "  he  said  abruptly.  Then  he  laughed,  re 
turned,  replaced  the  canvas  by  a  fresh  one,  and  started 
again. 

"Come  and  behold!"  he  said  grimly,  when  he  had 
completed  the  second  study.  "  Let's  see  how  good  an 
artist  you  are.  Which  ?  " 

He  placed  the  two  sketches  together  and  stood  back 
as  Inga  came  eagerly  up.  They  were  done  in  a  man 
ner  so  opposite  that  they  might  have  been  by  different 
hands  —  the  last  graceful,  charming,  inclining  to  the  sen 
timental;  the  first  trenchant,  direct,  almost  cruel  in  its 
reality. 

"  Which?  "  he  said,  watching  her  gloomily. 

But  almost  before  the  words  were  on  his  lips,  her  an 
swer  had  come.  She  went  past  the  thing  of  grace  and 
charm  to  the  first  drawing  he  had  made. 

"That's  wonderful!"  she  said,  with  outstretched  fin 
ger. 

"What!  You  prefer  that?"  he  said  savagely.  She 
faced  his  look  and  nodded. 

"  Any  one  can  do  the  other ;  but  this,  this  shocks  you  — 
it's  so  savage  and  yet  so  convincing !  " 

He  came  to  her  side  and  viewed  the  canvases,  trying  to 
see  them  with  her  eyes,  to  feel  a  glimmer  of  her  enthu 
siasm.  So  pathetic  was  the  effort  she  saw  writ  on  his 
clouded  face  that  she  longed,  in  a  rush  of  maternal  pity, 
to  take  him  in  her  arms  and  cry. 

"But  it  is  good;  it  is!" 

At  the  end,  he  said  curtly : 

"  You  don't  know  —  if,  indeed,  you  really  meant  it." 


286  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

"  But,  Mr.  Dan,  I  do;  I  do,"  she  said,  seizing  his  arm. 
"  You've  done  something  unusual  —  something  different 
from  the  way  others  do." 

"  My  dear  child,"  he  said  impatiently,  "  they  are  both 
hopeless.  One  is  a  pretty  fake,  and  the  other  is  as  hard 
as  rocks!  Don't  argue;  I  know." 

He  lifted  the  canvases  and  set  them  down  with  a  crash 
against  the  wall,  while  she  watched  him,  with  a  sinking 
heart,  go  and  stand  by  the  window  in  a  brooding  revul 
sion.  The  test  had  come  which  she  had  striven  for, 
prayed  for,  waited  for,  and  it  had  failed.  She  had  a 
moment  of  intense,  hopeless  despair. 

That  night,  matters  were  even  worse.  Dangerfield  re 
lapsed  into  his  wildest  mood,  as  though  he,  too,  had  felt 
the  finality  of  the  test  and  knew  that  nothing  was  left  to 
hope  for.  He  managed  to  slip  away  without  her  noticing 
it,  and  when  he  staggered  back,  late  in  the  night,  he  was 
in  such  a  frenzy  of  remorse,  depression,  and  weakness 
that  she  did  not  dare  to  leave  his  side  an  instant. 

Yet,  by  noon  of  the  next  day,  when  he  had  recovered 
his  poise,  by  one  of  the  miracles  of  which  his  extraordi 
nary  constitution  was  capable,  curiously  enough  he  did  a 
thing  for  which  she  would  never  have  dared  to  hope.  He 
went  over  to  the  canvases  which  he  had  discarded  so 
fiercely,  chose  the  one  Inga  had  preferred,  and  placed  it 
on  the  easel. 

At  this  moment  Mr.  Cornelius,  coming  in,  expecting 
to  find  Dangerfield  prostrate  after  the  night's  debauch 
and  perceiving  him  actually  standing  before  his  easel, 
burst  into  an  exclamation  of  delight. 

"  Monsieur  Cornelius,"  said  Dangerfield  (he,  of  all  the 
floor,  never  called  him  "baron"),  "tell  me  what  you 
think  of  this?" 

"  The  baron  "  went  lightly  across  the  floor,  picking  up 
his  feet  and  glancing  in  wonder  at  Inga,  until  he  reached 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  287 

the  easel,  and  adjusted  his  glasses  with  nicety.  Then  he 
looked  up  suddenly. 

"  You  did  this  —  you,  my  friend  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  yesterday.     What  do  you  think  of  it  ?  " 

Mr.  Cornelius  examined  it  with  care,  nodding,  raising 
his  eyebrows,  pursing  his  lips. 

"  I  did  not  think  you  so  strong,"  he  said  slowly,  and 
the  look  of  wonder  with  which  he  examined  Dangerfield 
had  more  flattery  in  it  than  his  words.  "  Cest  fort; 
c'est  plus  que  fort  —  c'est  du  vrail " 

"  Yes;  there  is  something  in  it  —  something  odd,"  said 
Dangerfield  slowly,  to  Inga's  amazement. 

"  You  did  not  see  things  like  that  in  Paris,"  said  "  the 
baron,"  still  nodding.  "  Cristi  —  but  it's  astonishing 
what  you  make  a  line  do;  what  modeling!  " 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  Dangerfield  breathlessly,  "  it's  bold ; 
it  has  audacity;  it  is  not  trivial,  at  any  rate.  Curious 
thing  —  last  night  —  I  thought  it  insufferably  bad.  I 
even  preferred  this !  " 

He  held  up  the  other  sketch  with  a  guilty  laugh.  Mr. 
Cornelius  did  exactly  the  right  thing.  He  put  his  foot 
through  it. 

"  Mon  ami,  you  are  one  colossal  ass !  Now,  isn't  that 
a  nice  damn  thing?  A  man  who  can  do  what  you  can 
to  behave  so  badly.  If  I  could  do  that,  the  whole  damn 
family  could  go  cut  their  throats ;  je  m'en  ficherais  com- 
pletement!  That  means,  mademoiselle,  the  rest  of  them 
too  can  go  right  to  the  devil!  "  He  turned  on  Danger- 
field  and  shook  his  fist  in  his  face  in  Gallic  enthusiasm. 
"  You  stop  being  the  big  fool;  you  get  to  work!  You 
draw  ;  you  paint !  Where  is  the  model  ?  " 

The  model,  in  truth,  had  been  postponed  as  a  result  of 
the  previous  night's  dissipation.  Inga  started  up,  seeing 
the  eager  look  in  Dangerfield's  eyes. 

"  I'll  run  out;  I'll  get  one  right  away." 


288  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

"Pooh!"  said  "the  baron,"  and,  to  the  surprise  of 
them  both,  he  strode  to  the  model-stand,  his  violet  dress 
ing-gown  floating  behind  him,  and  installed  himself  in  a 
chair.  "  Paint  me  —  no  compliments  —  just  as  I  am  — 
Don  Juan  in  old  age  —  Beau  Brummel  in  poverty  —  lc 
vieux  bonlevardier.  Paint  me,  and  I  don't  see  nothing 
till  you  be  satisfied.  Now,  paint  like  ze  devil !  " 

In  truth,  he  made  a  striking  figure  in  his  black-felt 
slippers  and  white  socks,  his  loose,  yellowish  trousers,  a 
flash  of  white  at  the  throat  above  the  faded  violet  of  the 
dressing-robe,  which  set  forth  strongly  the  aristocratic 
features;  the  eyes  still  alert  and  compelling  above  the 
crinkled  sacks  which  had  formed  about  the  hollowed 
cheeks ;  the  defiant  rise  of  the  Gallic  mustache,  as  saucy, 
as  obstinate,  and  as  proud  in  adversity  as  in  the  halls  of 
revelry.  Dangerfield  exchanged  the  chairs,  giving  him 
one  of  barer  outline,  arranged  a  cold  gray  background 
over  the  screen,  and  added  a  faded  red  footstool.  In 
another  ten  minutes  he  was  feverishly  at  work,  while 
Inga,  at  her  pad,  strove  in  vain  to  catch  the  spirit  of  the 
pose  —  yet  thoroughly  content. 

The  incident  sank  deep  into  her  understanding.  Dan 
gerfield  had  rejected  her  sure  instinct,  and  yet,  a  day  later, 
had  been  convinced  at  the  first  word  from  Mr.  Cornelius. 
She  comprehended,  not  without  a  pang,  all  that  lay  in 
the  feeling  of  caste,  what  power  Mr.  Cornelius,  of  Dan- 
gerfield's  own  world,  might  have  over  him  where  she 
might  strive  in  vain.  At  once  she  began  to  reach  out 
for  his  assistance,  to  study  the  reticent,  kind  old  man,  to 
flatter  him  subtly,  to  please  him  by  a  dozen  little  atten 
tions,  and  draw  him  into  the  intimacy  of  the  studio. 

What  pleased  her  most  was  that  Mr.  Cornelius  had  the 
power  to  make  Dangerfield  talk.  Often  now,  in  the  dark, 
after  the  day's  work  was  done,  the  easel  put  away,  and 
the  rug  rolled  back,  the  two  men  would  stretch  back, 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  289 

puffing  on  their  pipes,  and  discuss  art  and  life  and  the 
thousand  and  one  affairs  of  the  world  which  may  always 
be  better  regulated  in  conversation.  Dangerfield  was  still 
far  from  being  tamed,  as  O'Leary  had  put  it,  but  some 
thing  had  come  now  to  aid  her  in  the  struggle,  a  new 
curiosity  still  unsatisfied,  a  wonder  whether  the  months 
of  disappointment  had  not  left  a  compensating  gift  in 
a  clearer  vision.  There  were  bad  moments,  when  he 
found  that  old  habits  had  set  their  yoke  over  his  will  and 
aroused  a  thirst  of  the  flesh  that  rose  up  at  times  and 
overwhelmed  him  in  dazed  nights  of  defeat.  But  the 
dawn  had  broken  at  last  through  the  clouds,  and,  little 
by  little,  hoping,  doubting,  he  had  begun  to  believe  in 
himself. 

The  Arcade  dwellers,  under  Inga's  deft  guidance, 
flocked  in  to  the  studio,  surrounding  Dangerfield  with 
youth,  movement,  and  bubbling  spirits,  and  if  there  were 
times  when  he  sat  apart  listlessly,  he  was  always  grate 
ful  to  the  spirit  of  comradeship  which  they  flung  about 
him  as  a  protecting  mantle.  He  made  frequent  visits  to 
the  adjoining  studio,  emerging  uproariously  after  a  de 
lighted  contemplation  of  Tootles'  work  of  art.  He  even 
visited  Schneibel's  home  galleries,  and  stood  in  awe  be 
fore  the  rainbows  descending  into  the  valleys,  the  show 
ers  draping  Roman  temples,  and  the  mechanical  cows 
which  seemed  to  be  skating  over  slippery  green  mead 
ows.  So  salutary  were  these  visits,  that,  at  times,  when 
his  own  work  lagged  or  a  fit  of  moroseness  was  impend 
ing,  he  would  look  up  grimly  and  say: 

"  The  blue  devils  are  around,  Inga.  Let's  go  down 
to  Schneibel's  and  cheer  up." 

Meanwhile,  Millie  Brewster  had  made  her  debut  at  the 
Gloria,  frantically  applauded  by  the  assembled  Arcadi 
ans.  The  affair  had  verged  perilously  close  to  a  dis 
aster,  for  the  girl,  suddenly  brought  before  the  footlights 


'290  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

with  the  many-headed  monster  stirring  beyond,  had  fal 
tered  and  sung  false.  Already  there  were  titters  and 
murmurs  in  the  audience  when  O'Leary  saved  the  day 
by  plumping  out  savagely : 

"  Millie,  you  can  do  better  than  that!  Now  do  it!  " 
In  her  astonishment,  the  girl  forgot  herself.  She 
looked  down  at  O'Leary  and  beheld  his  face,  that  had 
always  looked  upon  her  with  kindness,  so  set  in  fierce 
disapproval  that  straight  away,  all  else  forgot,  she  began 
to  sing  like  an  angel,  with  the  result  that  the  audience, 
always  sensitive  to  dramatic  changes,  burst  into  applause. 
But  the  work  ended,  no  further  engagements  resulted, 
the  truth  being  that,  though  she  had  a  certain  girlish 
charm  and  a  pleasant  though  thin  voice,  she  was  com 
pletely  lost  in  front  of  the  footlights. 

On  top  of  this  came  the  announcement  of  Myrtle  Pop 
per's  engagement  to  Mr.  Pomello,  which  sent  the  floor 
into  a  fever  of  excitement.  To  the  surprise  of  every 
one,  Dangerfield  offered  his  studio  for  the  ceremony  and 
asked  the  privilege  of  providing  the  supper.  Schneibel, 
not  to  be  outdone,  assumed  the  responsibility  of  Mr.  Po 
mello's  farewell  to  bachelordom,  which  was  to  be  con 
ducted  on  certain  original  lines  of  his  own.  Danger- 
field  threw  himself  into  the  spirit  of  the  celebration  with 
such  zest  that  his  good  spirits  reflected  themselves  through 
out  the  hall,  and  everything  seemed  now  to  be  fair  sail 
ing  when  a  new  complication  arose. 


XXX 

FOR  the  last  weeks,  Inga  had  been  aware  of  a  change 
in  Dangerfield.  His  moments  of  abstraction,  of  inner 
brooding,  grew  less  frequent.  Instead,  she  found  him 
with  his  eyes  set  profoundly  on  her,  until  she  became  un 
comfortably  conscious  of  this  increasing  curiosity.  At 
times  in  his  work,  he  would  begin  singing  to  himself 
snatches  of  old  French  songs,  and  occasionally,  when  he 
was  pleased  with  what  he  was  doing,  he  would  break  out 
full-voiced  into  the  marching-chant  of  his  student  days. 

C'est  les  quatz'  arts, 

C'est  les  quatz'  arts, 

C'est  les  quatz'  arts  qui  passent; 

C'est  les  quatz'  arts  passes. 

By  the  wall  were  the  first  two  drawings  he  had  made, 
and  at  the  end  of  the  afternoon's  sketching,  he  would 
take  each  new  canvas  and  compare  it  with  the  two  that 
now  represented  to  him  the  parting  of  the  ways.  If  it 
passed  the  inspection,  he  would  nod  contentedly,  trill  out 
a  gay  refrain,  and  replace  it  on  the  easel  for  further  study. 
But  occasionally,  when  old  habits  tricked  him  back  to 
the  easy,  graceful,  superficial  method,  he  would  burst 
into  a  roar  of  anger  and  bring  the  offending  canvas  to 
Inga,  crying: 

"Norn  d'un  pipe;  here  I  go  again!  Inga  —  quick; 
execute  justice!  " 

And  Inga,  laughing,  with  a  flash  of  green  stockings, 
would  send  her  pointed  slipper  through  the  canvas. 
Sometimes  she  would  protest  at  the  judgment,  but  he 
would  remain  obdurate. 


292  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

"  Not  half  bad,  perhaps  —  but  that's  not  what  I  want. 
No  more  mawkishness,  no  more  sentimentality.  I  know 
now  what  I  want.  Come  on ;  one,  two,  three !  "  Then, 
as  the  little  foot  reluctantly  tore  through  the  canvas,  he 
would  glance  down  admiringly  and  say,  "  And  that's  a 
better  fate  than  it  deserves !  " 

Two  and  three  days  in  succession  this  execution  would 
take  place  and  then  there  would  be  sure  to  be  long  periods 
of  restless  depression,  sometimes  ending  in  a  wild  spree 
with  the  consequent  grim  reaction.  But  gradually  these 
backslidings  grew  less  frequent,  as  his  feverish  love  of 
work  increased  with  his  growing  confidence.  The  morn 
ings  were  spent  in  rigorous  drawing,  Madame  Probasco, 
Sassafras,  Schneibel,  uncle  Paul  of  the  pawn  shop,  every 
model  of  strong  and  unusual  picturesqueness  being  im 
pressed  into  service,  again  and  again,  until  the  canvas 
yielded  to  his  satisfaction  the  quality  of  penetrating 
analysis  he  sought.  Tootles'  easel  made  the  third  in  these 
mornings  of  merciless  criticism,  and,  under  Dangerfield's 
stern  guidance,  the  young  fellow  began  to  reflect  some  of 
the  enthusiasm  of  the  master  and  to  make  genuine 
progress.  In  the  afternoon,  Dangerfield  returned  to  the 
portrait  of  Mr.  Cornelius,  always  grumbling,  always  dis 
satisfied. 

With  Inga  came  a  more  docile  mood.  In  fact,  it 
seemed  to  amuse  him  to  say : 

"  Well,  young  lady,,  what  are  your  commands  for  the 
day?" 

He  began  to  talk  to  her,  to  discuss  seriously  as  he  did 
with  "  the  baron."  In  truth,  he  was  now  alertly  curi 
ous.  What  did  she  understand ;  what  had  she  read,  seen, 
and  experienced?  He  recalled  certain  criticisms  which 
had  come  unexpectedly  from  her  lips,  and  wondered  from 
what  source  she  had  acquired  such  views.  Between 
them,  it  was  agreed  that  there  should  be  no  recalling  of 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  293 

the  past,  but  the  very  embargo  whetted  his  appetite.  He 
remembered  darkly  the  sequences  of  his  midnight  wan 
dering  through  the  city  with  Inga;  yet  enough  remained 
to  suggest  sides  of  her  life  that  seemed  incongruous  with 
the  present  calm  routine.  He  knew,  also,  from  the  gos 
sip  of  the  Arcade  that  there  had  been  another,  Cham- 
peno,  his  predecessor  in  the  studio,  who  had  dropped  out 
in  disaster;  but  to  what  extent  he  had  come  into  her 
life,  whether  profoundly  or  only  as  an  agreeable  acquaint 
ance,  he  could  not  divine.  He  recalled  the  strange  feel 
ing  which  had  come  to  him  in  the  first  days  that  there 
was  a  third  in  the  studio,  a  figment  of  the  memory  which 
seemed  to  rise  before  the  girl's  eyes  when  she  came  to 
him  in  his  hours  of  weakness;  and,  remembering  this, 
often  as  he  studied  her,  he  wondered,  yes,  even  with  a 
sense  of  irritation,  a  restless  beginning  of  jealousy.  So 
marked  was  his  contemplation,  that  Inga  said  to  him  one 
afternoon : 

"  Why  do  you  look  at  me  so  ?  " 

"  I'm  thinking,  wondering  many  things  about  you, 
Inga,"  he  said. 

She  looked  into  his  eyes  swiftly  a  moment  and  then 
turned  hurriedly  away,  busying  herself  with  the  stowing 
of  her  easel,  for  the  light  had  died  out  in  the  overcast 
sky  of  April  showers,  and  the  afternoon's  work  was 
over. 

"  Suppose  we  wander  up  into  Harlem,  where  the  new 
Jewish  quarter  might  give  us  some  types,  and  try  our 
luck  for  dinner,"  he  said,  watching  the  lightness  of  her 
movements,  the  grace  of  her  pliant  back  as  she  stooped, 
the  flitting  note  of  the  green  stockings. 

"  It's  showery,"  she  said  doubtfully. 

"  All  the  better  fun,  tramping  in  the  rain." 

"  Want  me  to  get  ready?  " 

"  Not  yet  —  come  here !  " 


294  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

He  came  back,  drying  his  hands,  still  in  his  loose  work 
ing-costume,  a  serious  light  in  his  eyes. 

"  Do  you  know  that  was  a  good  idea  you  gave  me 
over  in  that  water-front  restaurant  that  day  —  about 
getting  down  to  realities,  expressing  the  world  of  the 
masses,"  he  said  gravely.  "  I've  been  thinking  a  lot 
about  it." 

"Oh,  I  do  mean  it!"  she  said,  her  face  lighting  up 
with  the  rare  enthusiasm  that  gave  it  the  touch  of  anima 
tion  it  needed  to  make  it  bewildering  to  his  eyes.  "  No 
one  seems  to  paint  New  York  —  to  look  for  what  he  can 
find  here.  They're  all  painting  and  sculpturing  as  others 
used  to  do  hundreds  of  years  ago." 

"  Inventing  and  not  interpreting,"  he  said,  nodding. 

"  Yes ;  that's  it  —  you  express  it  better  than  I  can. 
But  that's  what  I  mean  —  an  artist  ought  to  interpret 
all  he  sees  around  him,  express  his  time,  its  manners,  its 
customs,  the  joy  and  the  misery  of  the  streets.  It's  not 
only  that,  but  when  he  does  that,  when  he  lives  with  the 
people,  he  can't  lose  his  enthusiasm." 

"  And  if  he  does  the  other  thing,  gets  into  society, 
society  only  comes  to  prey  upon  him,  to  exhaust  him, 
to  waste  his  energies  and  corrupt  his  imagination  — 
that's  what  you  mean  ?  " 

She  nodded. 

"Just  that!" 

"  Inga,  you're  right,"  he  said  abruptly.  "  That's  the 
trouble  with  us  all  over  here.  We  don't  keep  to  our 
selves;  we  aren't  savage  enough.  Our  aim,  after  all,  is 
the  same  as  the  business  parvenu;  we  want  to  do  the 
things  others  do  at  the  top  —  what  we  call  the  top !  No  ; 
it's  wrong,  all  wrong.  Art  was  not  produced  like  that 
in  the  great  days.  Artists  should  live  to  themselves  — 
yes,  be  savage  about  it.  The  two  things  can't  mingle 
—  don't  I  know  it !  " 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  295 

"  Mr.  Dan/'  she  said,  her  face  aglow,  "  don't  you  see 
that  you  have  got  rid  of  all  that?  " 

He  was  silent,  moody.  Then  he  placed  his  hand  on 
her  shoulders  with  a  smile. 

"  Inga,  I  believe  you're  going  to  win,"  he  said  slowly. 

She  smiled  and,  looking  at  him,  nodded  confidently. 

"  Lucky  you  got  hold  of  me  when  you  did,"  he  said, 
in  a  burst  of  confidence.  "  Something  else  was  getting 
a  pretty  tight  grip  on  me  —  might  have  been  too  late 
soon."  How  completely  the  longing  still  awoke  in  him 
at  times,  he  did  not  tell  her.  His  mind  went  back  to  the 
thoughts  she  had  just  expressed,  and  he  said,  "  You 
know,  your  ideas  surprise  me." 

"How  so?" 

"  Wonder  where  you  got  them.  After  all,  though, 
that's  human  nature,  woman  nature,"  he  said,  with  a  re 
flective  smile,  "  to  take  knowledge  from  one  man  to  help 
another." 

"  What  do  you  mean?  "  she  said,  drawing  back. 

"  You've  heard  others  say  those  things,  I  suppose,"  he 
said.  "  What's  his  name,  the  young  fellow  who  was 
here  before?  Champeno,  that's  it.  I  suppose  when  you 
straighten  me  out,  you'll  go  on  to  the  next  with  what 
I've  taught  you." 

The  question,  which  came  with  the  swiftness  of  a 
sword-thrust,  and  the  quick  concentration  of  his  glance 
visibly  upset  her,  so  much  so  that  he  hastened  to  say : 

"  Why,  there's  nothing  wrong  in  my  saying  that,  is 
there?"' 

She  frowned  and  finally  said :  "  But  I  don't  see  what 
reason  you  have  for  thinking  such  things." 

"  I'm  frankly  curious  about  you,  Inga,"  he  said  ab 
ruptly. 

She  turned  away,  plainly  disconcerted.  "  I  don't  like 
to  talk  about  myself." 


296  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

"  You  don't  remember  some  of  the  things  you  said  to 
me  that  night." 

"  What?  "  she  asked  steadily. 

"  The  time  we  passed  the  child  leading  the  drunkard, 
and  you  said  it  brought  back  memories." 

"  I  didn't  think  you  remembered,"  she  said  slowly. 

"  And  at  Costello's  —  Costello's  greeting  you." 

"  What  is  there  in  that  ? "  she  said,  shrugging  her 
shoulders. 

"  Why,  nothing,  of  course,  except  —  well,  I  don't  like 
to  think  of  your  being  out  with  other  men  —  I  sup 
pose  that's  it."  She  opened  her  eyes  in  such  astonish 
ment  that  he  added  point  blank :  "  No ;  I  don't  like  the 
thought  —  just  jealousy,  that's  all." 

She  drew  back  and  her  face  flushed  red,  but  before 
he  could  go  further,  Tootles  came  down  the  hall. 

The  next  afternoon  Mr.  Cornelius  was  unable  to  come 
for  a  sitting  and  Dangerfield  was  in  high  dudgeon,  for 
Madame  Probasco  and  O'Leary  were  away  and  Sassa 
fras  fixed  to  the  elevator. 

"  You  wanted  to  sketch  the  oyster-man  behind  his 
bar,"  said  Inga,  referring  to  a  picturesque  bit  of  human 
nature  which  had  caught  his  fancy  the  night  before. 
"  Why  not  take  this  afternoon?  " 

"  I  wanted  to  paint,"  he  said,  like  a  spoiled  child. 

"  Am  I  ugly  enough  to  suit  you  ?  "  she  said,  with  a  bit 
of  malice. 

He  laughed  at  her  rejoinder  and  the  prospect  of  a 
busy  morning,  and  in  a  moment  had  her  posed  and  fell 
to  work.  Presently  he  looked  up  scowling. 

"  Something's  wrong  —  don't  look  natural ;  let's  try 
something  easier." 

Twice  he  changed  the  pose,  and,  finally,  in  a  fit  of 
temper,  broke  the  brush  and  threw  it  on  the  floor. 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  297 

"Darned  if  I  know  what's  wrong!  It's  not  you  — 
that's  all."  He  stood  with  folded  arms,  studying  her 
angrily.  "You  don't  look  you!"  he  exclaimed  sud 
denly.  "  Sounds  idiotic,  but  it's  true.  I  believe  it's  the 
hair  —  something  wrong  there.  It's  stiff  —  constrained, 
and  you're  not  conventional.  Yes,  by  Jove,  that's  it! 
Take  it  down  and  try  it  some  other  way. 

She  hesitated,  her  fingers  to  her  lips,  and  reluctantly 
unwound  the  braids  that  she  wore  about  her  forehead 
in  a  Swedish  coil.  Then,  with  deft  fingers,  she  shook 
them  loose  while  the  man  came  suddenly  close  to  her, 
his  eyes  studying  her  face  in  surprise.  The  long  black 
hair,  released,  fell  about  her  shoulders  and  softened  the 
marble  coldness  of  her  features,  fell  in  black  rippling 
waves  like  the  mysterious  depths  of  the  sea  on  a  sum 
mer's  night.  She  seemed  like  a  released  soul,  something 
soaring  and  on  the  wing,  far-distant  as  the  wild  fjords 
of  her  native  Scandinavia. 

"Is  this  better?"  she  asked,  smiling  with  a  new 
archness  as  though  within  her  too  a  spirit  had  been  re 
leased. 

He  was  too  startled  by  her  sudden  loveliness,  to  an 
swer.  All  at  once  he  came  to  her  and  held  her  head 
between  his  hands,  gazing  into  the  dark  face  where  the 
blue-gray  eyes  shone  forth  with  an  easy  light. 

"  Inga,"  he  said  tempestuously,  looking  at  her  so  in 
tensely  that,  for  the  first  time,  she  dropped  her  glance, 
"  What  are  you  ?  Where  do  you  come  from  ?  What  is 
behind  those  eyes  of  yours?  Do  you  really  care  for  me, 
or  is  it  just  an  instinct  in  you  to  help?  Sometimes  I 
think  that's  all,  that  if  I  were  not  in  such  need  of  you, 
you  would  disappear  in  the  night  like  the  elfin  thing  you 
are." 

"  You  are  wrong,"  she  said,  shaking  her  head. 

He  laughed  and  turned  away. 


298  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

"Put  up  your  hair.  I'll  paint  you  like  that  —  but 
some  other  day." 

When  she  had  braided  and  coiled  her  hair  about  her 
forehead  and  come  to  his  side,  he  took  her  hand  and 
raised  it  to  his  lips,  in  more  genuine  emotion  than  he 
had  shown. 

"  Inga,  you're  much  too  good  for  me  with  my  cranky 
ways,  my  bad  temper  and  worse.  If  I'm  rough  —  I'm 
always  sorry  for  it." 

"  I  know  that,  Mr.  Dan,"  she  said  softly. 

"  Child,  you  must  be  starving  here,"  he  said  gently. 
'  You  weren't  meant  for  this ;  you  were  meant  for  the 
woods  and   rocks,   the  rocks  that  run  into  the   sea  — 
something  tempestuous  and  free." 

"  I  should  like  the  sea,"  she  said  eagerly,  and  her  eyes 
lit  up  as  though  touched  with  phosphorus. 

He  took  a  long  breath  and  glanced  out  of  the  open 
window,  drinking  in  the  mild  air  laden  with  the  stirring 
perfumes  of  the  spring. 

"  We  must  get  away,"  he  said  joyfully,  "  from  men 
and  machines!  You've  given  me  back  life  and  ambition, 
child.  Now  I  want  to  get  away  to  my  own  thoughts, 
back  to  the  things  that  are  eternal,  the  things  that  heal." 
They  stood  by  the  window.  He  raised  her  hand  again 
to  his  lips.  "  I've  waited  long  enough  to  be  fair  to 
you  —  now  I'm  going  to  carry  you  off !  "  he  said,  with 
a  suddenness  that  took  away  her  breath. 

The  next  moment  his  arms  had  snatched  her  up  and 
she  was  looking  up  into  his  steady  domineering  eyes. 
And,  seeing  his  look,  she  understood. 

"  To  carry  me  off?  "  she  said  faintly. 

"  Yes,  Mrs.  Dangerfield." 

:t  You  want  me  to  marry  you !  "  she  said,  staring  at 
him. 

He  laughed  out  of  the  fulness  of  the  joy  in  his  heart. 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  299 

"  So  quick  it'll  take  your  breath  —  and  then  to  get 
away ! " 

"Wait  —  no,  no  —  wait!"  she  said  breathlessly,  as 
she  felt  him  drawing  her  up  to  him. 

Something  in  the  tone  caused  him  to  look  at  her  sud 
denly  and  then  to  release  her.  She  stood,  the  picture 
of  distress,  her  lips  parted,  her  eyes  filling  with  tears, 
looking  at  him,  one  hand  at  her  throat  as  though  to  press 
back  the  sorrow  that  was  there. 

"  Oh,  I  was  so  afraid  you'd  say  that,"  she  said  at  last. 
"  Why  did  you,  Mr.  Dan  —  why  did  you  —  why  couldn't 
it  go  on  just  as  it  has !  " 

"  Why?  "  he  cried,  in  amazement,  but  before  he  could 
break  into  a  torrent  of  passion,  she  had  turned  and  fled 
from  the  room. 

"  What  in  the  world  did  I  say  that  was  wrong?  "  he 
thought,  and  he  began  to  search  in  bewilderment.  At  the 
end  of  a  long,  puzzled  self-examination,  a  light  flashed 
over  him.  "  What  an  idiot  I  am !  Of  course !  She's 
made  up  her  mind  I  asked  her  only  out  of  gratitude! 
Poor  little  child!" 

He  hastened  to  her  room  to  repair  his  fancied  blun 
der,  but  though  he  knocked  long  and  loud,  no  answer 
came.  The  next  day,  a  slip  of  paper  lay  on  the  floor 
under  the  crack  of  his  door,  where  she  had  thrust  it. 

DEAR  MR.  DAN: 

I've  gone  away  for  the  day.  When  I  come  back  I'll 
explain  and  you  must  understand  —  and  it  isn't  because  I  don't 
care.  INGA. 


XXXI 

THE  day  was  interminable  and  wasted.  He  spent  the 
morning  fidgeting  at  his  easel  and  lecturing  Tootles  with 
such  severity  that  all  the  smiles  fled  from  that  young 
reprobate's  countenance  and  he  sat  gloomily  on  his  stool, 
his  head  sinking  into  his  collar,  turtle-fashion,  for  one 
glance  of  displeasure  from  Dangerfield  could  plunge  him 
into  the  caverns  of  despair.  In  the  present  case,  the  un 
exampled  duplicity  of  Pansy,  whom  he  had  seen  with 
his  own  eyes  on  the  arm  of  the  unthinkable  Drinkwater, 
combined  to  send  his  thoughts  wandering  among  such 
appropriate  subjects  as  suicide  and  graveyards. 

"  What  the  deuce  has  he  been  up  to  ?  "  he  said  to  him 
self,  watching  Dangerfield,  who  was  switching  up  and 
down  in  front  of  his  easel  like  a  circus  leopard.  "  Drink 
ing  his  head  off  last  night,  I  suppose/' 

"  Hold  the  pose,"  said  Dangerfield  spitefully. 

"  I  ain't  doin'  nothin',"  said  Sassafras,  startled. 

"You  shifted  that  left  leg!  Throw  it  forward! 
More,  so!  Now  hold  it." 

"Hold  it;  hold  it,"  muttered  Sassafras  to  himself. 
"  Mighty  easy  to  say  '  Hold  it ;  hold  it ! '  Like  to  see 
some  one  else  stand  on  one  leg  a  whole  mawnin'  and 
1  hold  it,  hold  it ! '  " 

Sassafras  glanced  over  indignantly,  but  Tootles  shook 
his  head  in  mute  warning. 

"  What  the  devil's  got  into  the  charcoal ! "  said  Dan 
gerfield  presently.  He  flung  aside  the  piece  he  was  using 
and  selected  another,  but  a  few  minutes  later  he  broke 
out  into  an  exclamation,  and  taking  the  canvas,  brought 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

it  down  savagely  across  his  knee  and  flung  it  across  the 
floor,  after  which  he  broke  into  a  short,  nervous  laugh. 

"  There  —  I  feel  better  —  can't  work  this  morning  — 
not  in  the  mood  —  you  go  ahead  —  I'm  through !  " 

He  hesitated,  picked  up  his  hat,  and  went  out.  His 
mind  had  run  away  from  him.  Try  as  he  might,  he  had 
not  been  able  to  fix  it  on  the  work  before  him.  He  felt 
upset,  disorganized,  restless,  and  immeasurably  irritated 
that  he  should  have  lost  control  of  his  impulse  at  the 
very  moment  when  he  had  been  confident  of  a  new  birth 
of  inspiration. 

He  wandered  restlessly  through  ways  which  he  had 
gone  with  Inga,  ending  up  for  luncheon  at  the  little  res 
taurant  with  the  oyster-bar,  where  he  had  sketched  with 
such  avidity.  Only,  nothing  interested  him.  The  curi 
ous  types  of  pedler  and  hybrid  politician,  the  melancholy 
of  the  old  regime,  and  the  audacity  of  the  new  genera 
tion,  which  he  had  seen  and  studied  with  avid  eye  and 
awakened  imagination,  to-day  bored  him  immeasurably. 
He  saw  neither  color,  character  nor  life.  They  were 
dirty,  cheap,  and  commonplace.  The  waiter,  a  young 
student  from  the  University  of  Moscow,  a  year  over, 
with  whom  Inga  and  he  had  had  long  interested  conver 
sations,  came  up  eagerly,  only  to  be  greeted  with  glum 
monosyllables. 

To  some  men,  Inga's  evasion  would  have  aroused 
eager  senses  of  pursuit  and  possession.  Not  so,  Danger- 
field.  All  his  instincts  rebelled  at  this  sudden  disquiet 
ing  and  disorganizing  intrusion  across  the  slow  ascent 
toward  reclamation  which  had  lain  so  clearly  before  him. 
Whatever  her  reason  for  her  abrupt  flight,  he  resented 
the  loss  of  the  morning's  work,  the  interruption  of  the 
happy  impulse  which  had  reordered  the  universe  for  him. 
He  was  angry  not  simply  at  the  incident  and  the  mem 
ories  of  past  discouragement  it  awoke,  but  for  what  lay 


302  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

ahead  —  the  fear  of  the  future,  the  wonder  whether  he 
had  not  reached  that  period  in  his  relations  with  Inga 
when  his  equanimity  and  the  precious  poise  of  an  artist 
were  to  be  constantly  upset  by  the  necessity  of  follow 
ing  vagrant  moods.  For  he  realized  now  how  neces 
sary  the  girl  had  become  to  him,  to  his  restless  mind  that 
took  fright  at  a  moment's  solitude,  to  his  awakening 
ambition,  ready  at  a  moment  to  sink  back  in  discourage 
ment,  and  to  something  deeper  than  mind  or  tempera 
ment  —  to  the  spark  in  him  that  still  clung  to  his  youth 
through  the  glorious  youth  in  her. 

"Why  were  women  sent  into  the  world,  anyway?" 
he  thought  savagely,  spearing  a  loaf  of  bread  as  though 
he  were  demolishing  the  whole  sex.  "  Why  have  men 
been  given  a  hidden  spring  of  sentiment  that  makes  a 
woman's  sympathy  a  necessity?  And  why  must  woman 
always  come  into  man's  life  to  divert  him  from  his  ob 
ject?" 

What  most  irritated  him  was  that  he  had  thought  Inga 
of  different  mold,  and  now  she  had  suddenly  been  re 
vealed  to  him  as  profoundly  disquieting  as  her  frailest 
sister.  This  feeling  of  resentment  increased  as  the  lack 
of  her  presence  in  his  day  made  itself  felt.  He  resented 
that  she  should  have  fastened  him  to  herself.  He  re 
sented  that  she  should  have  shown  a  feminine  capricious- 
ness,  and,  most  of  all,  he  resented  the  fact  that  he  should 
feel  such  resentment. 

He  was  in  this  gloomy,  destructive  state  of  antagonism, 
amounting  almost  to  revulsion  against  Inga,  when  he 
looked  up  and  saw  her  entering  the  restaurant.  She 
perceived  him  instantly,  stopped,  and  made  as  though  to 
withdraw.  The  movement  roused  a  fury  in  him.  His 
face  grew  stern  and  his  glance  remained  coldly  fixed. 

"If  she  thinks  I  am  going  after,  she's  mistaken/'  he 
thought  bitterly. 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  303 

Perceiving  that  he  had  seen  her,  she  checked  her  move 
ment  of  flight  and  presently  came  over  to  his  table, 
nodded,  and  sat  down.  He  saw  the  furrowed  pain  on 
her  face  and  the  torment  in  her  eyes,  and  divined  the  day 
of  suffering  through  which  she  had  passed.  A  sudden 
lightening  of  the  spirit  flashed  through  him,  scattering 
the  bitter  clouds  of  dejection.  He  felt  an  uncontrollable 
gaiety,  a  leaping  of  the  pulses,  a  need  of  laughter,  of  sing 
ing  out  loud,  of  music,  and  of  sunlight.  All  his  doubts 
vanished  in  a  pervading  sense  of  peace  and  serenity. 
For  he  knew  that  she  loved  him. 

Yet  they  did  not  speak  a  word  of  what  lay  nearest  to 
their  hearts.  Gregory,  the  young  student,  served  them, 
and  tarried  to  discuss  political  developments  in  Russia. 
Dangerfield,  in  fine  feather,  disputed  eloquently,  oppos 
ing  his  Tolstoyan  theories  of  non-resistance.  The  tran 
sition  from  moroseness  to  ecstatic  gaiety  was  so  swift 
that  he  felt  an  impulse  to  work. 

"  What  a  pity  I  haven't  a  sketching  pad !  "  he  said  rue 
fully. 

Gregory  hastened  to  supply  him  paper  and  pencil.  He 
laughed  and  began  a  series  of  rapid  sketches  of  the  oyster- 
openers;  Mother  Trekanova  at  the  counter;  a  silhouette 
of  a  young  Jewish  girl  in  tinsel  finery  with  an  old  rabbi 
watching  in  critical  disapprobation.  Inga,  her  hands 
clasped  in  front  of  her,  continued  to  stare  at  the  table 
cloth,  scarcely  raising  her  glance. 

Dangerfield  completed  a  dozen  sketches  and  sprang  up 
lightly  and  satisfied,  his  mind  busy  with  projects  for 
paintings.  Everything  attracted  him;  the  whole  world 
was  rich  with  points  of  interest  —  a  black-haired  woman 
leaning  out  of  the  window  drying  her  hair,  two  young 
mothers  with  babies  at  their  shoulders  chatting  before  a 
kosher  shop,  a  public  school  pouring  out  its  color-flecked 
stream  of  alien  races  —  all  these  notes  of  humanity  seemed 


304  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

to  him  vibrant  with  the  teeming  will  to  live,  to  enjoy,  and 
to  drink  in  sensations  to  the  fullest.  He  began  to  talk 
in  long,  loquacious  periods,  as  he  seldom  talked  in  his 
sober  moods  —  of  the  things  that  lay  about  him  to  paint, 
of  the  new  quarters  which  they  should  explore,  planning 
what  they  would  do  in  the  spring  and  the  summer  months, 
eager  to  be  off.  For,  of  course,  he  took  it  for  granted 
that  her  opposition  had  ended.  His  enthusiasm  was  so 
obvious  that  she  could  not  fail  to  comprehend  the  cause. 
Several  times  she  glanced  at  his  radiant  face,  wistfully 
and  seriously,  then  looked  away  over  the  house  tops  or 
deep  into  the  city  crowds.  When  they  came  to  the  Ar 
cade,  she  stopped  him,  and  looked  him  full  in  the  face. 

"  Mr.  Dan,  you  don't  understand." 

His  face  clouded  abruptly. 

"  Understand  ?  What  do  you  mean  by  that  ?  And 
why  — "  he  glanced  impatiently  at  the  tenanted  Arcade  — 
"  why  say  this  to  me  here  ?  " 

"  Go  up,  I'll  come  in  an  hour.  I  want  to  think,"  she 
said  gently.  "  Please  don't,  don't  look  at  me  like  that." 

"  Very  well,"  he  said  curtly,  "  You'll  be  up  in  an 
hour?" 

She  nodded  and  stood  while  he  went  away,  angry  and 
in  his  blackest  mood. 


XXXII 

TRUE  to  her  word,  at  the  appointed  time  she  came 
knocking  at  his  door.  He  was  walking  up  and  down  — 
he  had  not  ceased  from  this  nervous  pacing  since  she  had 
left  him  and,  at  the  first  glance,  she  saw  how  taut  every 
nerve  was  strung.  She  went  to  him  directly,  and  tak 
ing  his  hand,  pressed  it  to  her  heart.  At  her  action,  so 
full  of  gentleness  and  poignant  feeling,  he  felt  a  longing 
to  catch  her  up  in  his  arms  and  surrender  weakly  each 
last  shred  of  resentment. 

"  Inga  —  dear  girl,"  he  said  with  difficulty,  "  you  don't 
know  how  you  torture  me  and  the  worst  is  I  can't  under 
stand  —  no ;  I  can't  understand  at  all !  " 

"  Mr.  Dan,  why  can't  it  go  on  just  as  it  has?  "  she  said 
suddenly,  lifting  her  pleading  eyes  to  his. 

"  It  can't,"  he  said  roughly.  "  You  know  that  as  well 
as  I  do.  It's  gone  too  far.  You've  made  yourself  neces 
sary  to  me.  I  must  have  you  near  me,  by  my  side,  every 
moment  of  the  day.  I  don't  believe  in  myself;  I  believe 
in  you,  and  that's  what  I  cling  to.  Good  God,  Inga,  I 
don't  understand  you !  Do  you  think  you  have  the  right 
to  do  this  now,  and  for  what  reason  ? "  He  stopped, 
looked  at  her,  and  said  angrily :  "  You  are  not  so  idiotic 
to  think  I  care  what  may  have  been  your  past.  It  isn't 
any  such  thing  as  that,  is  it?  " 

She  shook  her  head  disdainfully. 

:(  That  has  nothing  to  do  with  us,"  she  said  coldly. 

"  Well,  then  what?  "  he  said  frantically.  "  At  first,  I 
thought  you  believed  it  was  only  out  of  gratitude."  He 
caught  a  look  in  her  face  and  checked  himself.  "  Inga, 
you  do  believe  that.  Good  Heavens,  don't  you  know, 


306  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

don't  you  understand  how  I  have  felt  all  these  weeks, 
that  if  I  have  held  myself  in  it  was  because  I  wouldn't 
bind  you,  until  —  until  I  knew  there  was  something  to 
offer  you  in  exchange  —  something  more  than  a  derelict, 
a  derelict  that  was  going  under?  But,  child,  don't  you 
know  what  I  am,  and  don't  you  know  what  you  are  — 
how  I  long  for  you  and  need  you?  Don't  you  realize 
what  you  mean  to  me,  to  have  you  here  close  at  my  side, 
so  young,  so  gentle,  so  strong !  Haven't  you  seen  my  eyes 
following  you,  craving  your  young  loveliness?  Haven't 
you  felt  how  my  arms  have  longed  to  go  out  to  you,  to 
hold  you  to  me?  You  mean  everything  to  me  —  the  end 
of  a  nightmare,  the  birth  of  a  new  day !  And  you  could 
think  that  I've  asked  you  to  marry  me  out  of  gratitude! 
Inga,  Inga ;  any  man  would  be  mad  in  love  with  you !  " 

He  had  ended  turbulently,  his  hand  on  her  shoulder. 
She  looked  at  him  long  and  penetratingly,  as  though 
plunging  through  the  barriers  that  blocked  the  way  to  the 
truth  that  lay  in  his  heart,  the  truth  of  the  moment  and 
the  truth  of  to-morrow.  This  scrutiny  lasted  so  long  that 
he  was  on  the  point  of  breaking  out  again  when  she 
checked  him  with  her  hand. 

"Yes;  I  believe  that  you  love  me,"  she  said  gently, 
almost  as  though  she  were  reassuring  herself.  She 
added  with  the  same  low,  soothing  melody  in  her  voice 
that  his  ear  had  learned  to  crave,  "  And  I,  too  —  I  love 
you." 

She  pronounced  this  so  solemnly  that  it  sounded  to  him 
not  like  a  surrender  but  as  a  farewell. 

"  And  yet  you  won't  marry  me,"  he  said,  divining  what 
lay  behind. 

"  That  is  not  necessary/'  she  said  deliberately,  "  that 
is,  marriage  —  your  form  of  marriage." 

He  turned  like  a  flash  and  stood  looking  at  her,  his 
hands  on  his  hips,  open-mouthed. 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  307 

"  This  is  what  I  want  you  to  understand,"  she  said  quite 
naturally.  "  What  you  must  understand.  Will  you  hear 
me  and  try  to  see  my  point  ?  I  have  sworn  that  I  would 
never  marry.  I  can't  —  everything  in  me  is  against  it. 
I  can't,  I  won't  acknowledge  that  any  one  or  any  system, 
can  force  me  to  give  myself  to  any  man  unless  I  love 
him,  unless  it  is  my  wish  to  remain  with  him.  How  do 
I  know  whether  you  will  always  love  me,  always  need 
me  in  your  life?  How  do  I  know  that  I  shall  always 
want  to  be  with  you  ?  " 

"  You !  "  he  said,  thunderstruck,  for,  at  heart,  like  most 
artists,  his  nature  was  not  a  complex  one  and  his  religion 
was  of  the  day  and  the  moment.  The  idea  that  she  could 
ever  cease  to  love  him  struck  him  as  more  extraordi 
nary  than  that  he  should  ever  change.  "  You  can  say 
that!" 

"  Yes ;  I  can  see  that  that  might  happen,"  she  said  reso 
lutely.  "  Even  now,  and  I  do  care  for  you,  Mr.  Dan  — 
believe  me,  I  do  love  you,"  she  said,  clasping  her  hands 
and  half  extending  them  toward  him  in  a  gesture  of  en 
treaty,  "I  only  think  of  you;  I  only  care  what  becomes 
of  you,  and  I  am  so  happy  in  that,  and  yet " 

"  And  yet,"  he  said  sharply. 

"And  yet  —  now  —  even  now,"  she  said,  nodding  to 
herself,  as  though  the  veil  of  the  future  had  been  lifted 
before  her  eyes,  "  I  know  that,  if  the  time  came  when  I 
couldn't  mean  anything  more,  if  I  couldn't  follow  you 
where  you'd  want  to  go  • " 

"  But  you  are  crazy!  "  he  broke  in  roughly. 

"No,  no,"  she  said  sympathetically;  "I'm  not  so 
crazy  —  I  am  right!  For,  Mr.  Dan,  I'm  not  of  your 
kind  —  I  know  it.  If  you  were  strong  —  if  you  were 
yourself,  I  would  never  have  been  in  your  life;  don't  you 
see,  don't  you  understand?  I  won't  fasten  myself  to 
you !  I  won't  marry  you !  " 


308  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

"  That's  it,  then/'  he  exclaimed ;  "  now  we  have  the  real 
reason ! " 

"  No,  no,"  she  said  hastily ;  "  you  mustn't  think  that. 
That's  a  reason,  but  not  the  real  one.  What  I  said  to 
you  is  the  truth.  I  can't  believe  there  is  any  higher  right 
than  my  own  to  say  when  and  how  long  I  shall  surrender 
my  liberty " 

By  this  time,  Dangerfield  was  in  a  towering  rage.  De 
spite  her  protestation,  he  was  convinced  that  the  real  cause 
was  one  of  pride. 

"  In  other  words,  you  prefer  to  be  my  mistress ! "  he 
cried  with  that  intemperance  which  only  comes  when  the 
longing  for  possession  is  so  keen  that  love  and  hate  trem 
ble  in  the  balance. 

"  No,"  she  said,  with  such  dignity  that  he  could  not 
meet  her  glance ;  "  I  am  willing  to  go  to  you,  to  live  with 
you,  to  do  everything  I  can  to  help  you,  so  long  as  we 
are  as  we  are  to-day.  That,  to  me,  is  marriage.  To  stay 
as  your  wife  when  nothing  is  left  but  ashes  —  no ;  that  is 
too  horrible.  If  I  say  this,  it's  because  I've  thought  about 
it  and  have  the  courage  to  believe  it,  because  I  want  to 
keep  my  self-respect  and  my  freedom." 

"  Oh,  your  freedom !  " 

"  Yes,  my  freedom,  because  like  that  I  always  will  be 
free,  to  come,  to  go,  to  give,  to  think  honestly,"  she  said 
gently.  "  Oh,  I  know  you  won't  understand.  I  know 
you're  thinking  terrible  thoughts  about  me.  And  yet  — 
isn't  my  way  more  honest  than  —  than  women  who  marry 
and  divorce  two  and  three  times?  Is  that  respectability 
to  you?" 

"  What  have  you  been  reading  ?  "  he  said  curtly. 

"  It's  not  what  I've  been  reading;  it's  what  I've  seen," 
she  said  slowly.  "  It's  other  women  —  it's  my  mother's 
life."  She  covered  her  face  suddenly,  and  her  body  shiv 
ered.  "No,  no;  don't  ask  me  to  give  up  my  belief! 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  309 

Don't  ask  me  to  be  different  than  I  am !  I  am  wild  and 
free  as  you  say;  please  don't  change  me." 

"  I  only  understand  one  thing,"  he  said  angrily,  "  and 
that  is  you  don't  love  me.  If  you  did,  it  would  not  be  a 
question  of  discussion." 

"  No,  no ;  you're  wrong,  Mr.  Dan."  She  shook  her 
head  and  held  out  her  arms  to  him.  "  Mr.  Dan,  oh,  why 
won't  you  see?  " 

He  turned  from  her,  though  in  her  eyes  was  a  yearn 
ing  toward  him,  and  her  outstretched  arms  and  swaying 
body  drew  him  to  her.  He  went  away  and  stood  apart, 
his  back  turned,  shaken  by  the  longing  which  beat  in  his 
veins  and  yet  resolved  not  to  yield  an  inch.  He  did  not 
believe  in  her  proclaimed  theories  —  they  were  only  ex 
cuses.  The  real  reason  lay  in  her  distrust  of  the  future. 
But,  this  seemed  to  him  so  monstrous,  at  the  very  mo 
ment  when  he  was  only  conscious  of  the  utter  obsession 
which  she  had  awakened  in  him,  that  he  raged  at  the  un 
reasonableness  of  the  barrier  which  had  been  thrown 
across  the  promise  of  the  future.  Her  very  resistance 
seemed  disloyalty  to  him,  as  though  another  shared  her 
with  him  and  strove  against  him.  All  at  once  a  thought 
awoke  him  violently.  After  all,  had  she  ever  mentioned 
the  real,  the  true  reason  ? 

He  wheeled  and  went  back  swiftly. 

"  Inga,  is  there  any  one  else— -is  that  it?  "  he  blurted 
out. 

The  suddenness  of  the  question  staggered  her.  She 
drew  back,  but  recovered  herself  almost  immediately. 

"  I  have  told  you  my  true  reason,"  she  said,  in  a  low 
voice. 

:<  You  have  not  answered.  I  have  a  right  to  know  the 
truth.  There  is  some  one  else,"  he  insisted. 

;'You  see,  this  is  just  it,"  she  said  solemnly,  "you 
think  you  have  the  right  to  know  everything  about  me. 


3io  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

That's  what  I  don't  admit  —  any  such  right,  either  over 
what  has  passed  or  what  is  coming." 

"  I  didn't  mean  it  that  way,"  he  said  nervously.  "  I 
don't  care  what  has  been.  Good  Lord,  I'm  not  asking 
more  of  you  than  I  do  of  myself,  but " 

"  But  you  must  know,"  she  said,  looking  at  him  with 
her  sea-blue  eyes,  that  in  moments  of  tense  emotion 
seemed  to  widen  and  darken. 

"  Yes ;  I  must  know,"  he  said,  exasperated.  "  I  must 
know  something  about  you !  " 

"  You  mean  everything  —  everything  I  have  done," 
she  said,  shaking  her  head,  "  every  thought,  all  that  sur 
rounds  me  and  makes  me  feel  that  something  is  hidden 
from  the  rest  of  the  world.  Oh,  Mr.  Dan,  if  I  changed 
like  that,  if  I  were  like  every  one  else,  you  wouldn't  care 
for  me  —  I  know  it,  I  know  it !  Mr.  Dan,  isn't  it  enough 
what  I'm  willing  to  give  you  ?  Let  me  be  as  I  am." 

He  did  by  instinct,  at  last,  the  thing  he  should  have 
done  at  first.  He  turned  with  a  smothered  exclamation 
and  caught  her  in  his  arms,  crying  hotly : 

"  I  don't  care  for  reasons  and  explanations  —  words, 
words !  Whether  it's  right  or  wrong,  as  you  see  it  or  as 
I  see  it,  whether  you  want  to  or  not,  I  love  you,  and  you're 
going  to  marry  me !  " 

She  closed  her  eyes ;  her  body  yielded  in  his  arms  and 
hung  there  inertly.  Intoxicated,  he  believed,  in  this  phys 
ical  surrender,  and  with  his  lips  close  to  her  cheek,  he 
poured  out  his  heart  to  her,  swayed  by  blinding  tempestu 
ous  madness  that  found  its  answer  in  this  unreason.  Her 
eyes  remained  closed,  her  lips  buried  against  his  shoul 
der,  where  her  head  was  pressed  in  a  last  instinctive 
defense.  Suddenly  she  felt  herself  growing  faint, 
threw  back  her  head,  avoided  his  lips,  and  flung  herself 
loose,  giddy  and  swaying,  her  hands  to  her  temples,  cry 
ing: 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  311 

"No,  no,  Mr.  Dan;  don't  carry  me  away!  It's  not 
fair!" 

"  What !  You  can  be  calm  now  ?  "  he  said,  following 
her. 

"  I  am  not  calm  —  I  am  not !  "  she  cried.  "  Don't  you 
know  that  I  love  you?  Oh,  it  isn't  fair  to  sweep  me  off 
my  feet  like  this ;  it  isn't  fair !  " 

A  shiver  went  through  her  body ;  she  covered  her  face 
with  her  hands  and  went  to  the  window  and  threw  it 
open.  A  long  moment  later  he  came  to  her  side  and  laid 
his  hand  lightly  on  her  arm. 

"  I'm  sorry,  I  lost  my  head,  Inga;  I  couldn't  help  it." 

She  turned,  quite  calm  again,  and  looked  at  him  with 
a  smile. 

"  I'm  glad  you  did,"  she  said  frankly.  "  It's  some 
thing,  something  to  remember  —  and  it  makes  me  be 
lieve." 

"  I'm  going  to  ask  you  once  more,"  he  said  solemnly. 

The  evening  was  about  them,  and  they  stood  in  the 
obscurity,  their  faces  but  faintly  visible  to  each  other,  and 
when  their  hands  touched,  they  trembled. 

"  I  cannot,"  she  said,  turning  away.  "  Wait !  You 
remember  that  night  when  we  met  the  child  leading  the 
drunkard  ?  You  remember  what  I  said  —  about  memo 
ries?  Well,  that  was  my  life;  I  was  that  child.  My 
father  was  that  and  more  —  more  than  you  can  imagine, 
more  than  I  can  tell.  And  my  mother  lived  with  him, 
suffering  every  insult,  every  horror  you  can  imagine. 
She  lived  with  him,  because  she  hadn't  the  courage  to 
break  away  —  because  they  had  brought  her  up  to  be 
lieve  that  when  she  married  she  belonged  to  her  husband, 
body  and  soul.  I  saw  what  marriage  was  then,  and  I 
saw  my  sister,  too,  bound  and  sold  to  a  man  she  couldn't 
care  for  —  a  man  who  had  a  little  money  —  a  good  bar 
gain  —  and  I  know  what  marriage  was,  to  her.  She  told 


312  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

me  —  when  she  hoped  she  was  going  to  die.  I  hate  mar 
riage!  I  hate  a  thing  that  can  enslave  and  degrade 
women  as  though  they  were  brutes  and  convicts.  Now, 
don't  you  see  what  it  means  to  me  to  remain  a  free 
human  being,  just  as  free  in  the  giving  as  before? 

He  was  silent,  seeking  to  evoke  out  of  the  past  the 
figure  of  the  child  that  her  words  had  thrown  before  his 
imagination,  amazed  at  this  revelation  of  a  thinking 
woman.  She,  too,  was  silent  a  moment.  Then  she 
turned. 

"  Give  me  your  hand/'  she  said  proudly.  "  Listen, 
Mr.  Dan:  If  I  take  you  and  you  take  me  —  just  you 
and  I,  the  only  ones  who  count  —  can  anything  be  more 
reverent,  more  sacred  than  as  we  are  now  ?  " 

Still  he  did  not  answer,  though  he  raised  his  eyes  and 
looked  at  her  profoundly.  There  was  no  confusion  in 
her  eyes,  no  hesitancy  in  the  softness  of  her  voice  as  she 
continued. 

"  I  will  go  with  you,  I  will  never  fail  you,  I  will  be 
happy  to  give  whatever  you  ask  of  me.  I  will  do  this 
as  long  as  you  love  me  and  need  me.  Won't  this  mean 
anything  to  you,  Mr.  Dan  —  won't  this  satisfy  you?  " 

He  shook  his  head.  His  face  in  the  dusk  was  stern  and 
gray,  for  he  realized  at  last  the  gravity  of  the  obstacle 
that  lay  between  them.  The  very  gentleness  in  his  voice 
showed  her  how  resolute  he,  too,  was  in  his  convic 
tion. 

"  You  may  think  one  way,  Inga  dear,"  he  said  gently; 
"  I  think  another.  I  couldn't  love  you  if  I  did  you  this 
wrong.  I  couldn't,  for  wrong  it  would  be  to  me.  If  I 
can't  have  you  as  my  wife,  I  won't  have  you  at  all."  He 
waited  a  moment,  and  then  added  slowly  as  though  weigh 
ing  each  word :  "  Now  I'm  not  going  to  be  a  coward 
and  threaten  to  go  to  the  dogs  to  play  on  your  sympathies. 
You  have  given  me  more  than  I  had  a  right  to  take,  and 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  313 

I'm  going  to  try  and  hold  what  we've  won  together. 
Only  —  I've  got  to  fight  it  out  alone." 

"  What  do  you  mean?  "  she  said,  putting  out  her  hand 
as  though  to  ward  off  a  blow. 

For  a  moment,  he  lost  control  of  himself  —  they  were 
close  together,  and  the  dark  had  obliterated  the  room. 

"  I  mean  I  can't  stand  it !  Flesh  and  blood  can't  stand 
it !  "  he  broke  out.  "  Inga,  I  can't  have  you  near  me  — 
that  I  can't  do!  It's  got  to  be  one  way  or  the  other  — 
all  or  nothing!  " 

"  You  mean  I  can't  —  can't  come  here  any  more?  "  she 
said,  with  a  catch  in  her  voice.  "  You  mean  I  must  go  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  you  must  go,"  he  said,  with  a  long  breath.  His 
hands  flashed  up  and  caught  her  shoulders  and  then  fell 
limply  again.  He  turned  with  an  inarticulate  cry  and 
went  hurriedly  over  to  the  switch  and  flung  on  the  lights. 
At  a  gesture  he  gave  of  mute  entreaty  she  went  to  the 
door,  slowly  and  heavily,  with  dragging  step.  With  her 
hand  on  the  knob  she  turned. 

"  I  can't,"  she  said  hopelessly.  "  There's  nothing  in 
the  world  I  wouldn't  give  you,  Mr.  Dan  —  except  that. 
I  can't  —  it's  my  belief ;  it's  —  it's  me !  " 


XXXIII 

DANGERFIELD  kept  his  promise  to  Inga.  Breeding  and 
training  in  him  were  too  finely  aristocratic  for  him  to 
surrender  weakly  under  the  girl's  eyes.  He  went  to  his 
easel  each  morning  with  the  early  hours,  sometimes  in 
the  company  of  Tootles,  sometimes  alone.  Each  day  he 
passed  Inga  in  the  hall  and  exchanged  cheery  greetings 
with  forced  gaiety,  but  beyond  this  they  did  not  meet. 
He  laid  before  himself  the  task  of  finding  himself  if  it 
could  be  done,  now  that  his  whole  day  had  to  be  reorgan 
ized  and  the  figure  of  the  young  girl  banished  from  it. 
At  the  bottom  he  knew  the  task  was  beyond  him.  He 
knew  himself  and  the  child  in  the  artist  that  cried  out 
for  comradeship  and  love. 

If  the  change  was  noticed  in  the  Arcade,  no  one  spoke 
to  him  of  it.  Tootles  had  looked  surprised  when  Inga 
had  not  appeared  the  first  mornings,  but  kept  his  own 
counsel.  Mr.  Cornelius,  too,  after  a  first  inquiry,  made 
no  further  reference  to  Inga's  absence,  though  he  made 
a  point  of  dropping  in  more  frequently. 

The  crisis  brought  the  two  men  together  in  a  closer 
companionship,  in  a  subtle  instinct  of  class  loyalty.  To 
cap  it  all,  Mr.  Cornelius,  in  his  most  formal  manner,  in 
vited  Dangerfield  to  dine  with  him  on  the  occasion  of  his 
monthly  pilgrimage  to  Delmonico's. 

At  half -past  seven,  Dangerfield,  who  had  been  fidgeting 
in  his  studio,  doing  a  dozen  things  by  fits  and  starts, 
dressed  and  started  down  the  hall.  Two  things  had  in 
duced  him  to  accept  an  invitation  which  threw  him 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  315 

momentarily  back  into  the  world  he  shunned.  He  real 
ized  how  strong  must  be  the  sense  of  comradeship  in  Mr. 
Cornelius  to  break  through  his  habits  of  tenacious 
secrecy.  Moreover,  his  curiosity  was  strongly  excited 
by  the  mystery  of  "  the  baron's  "  monthly  departure  en 
prince,  which  had  taxed  the  imagination  of  the  Arcadians. 
Since  the  morning  after  his  first  arrival  on  the  sixth 
floor,  Dangerfield  had  never  set  foot  in  the  old  man's  den, 
for  with  the  exception  of  Pansy  Hartmann,  for  whom 
he  showed  a  noticeable  affection,  Mr.  Cornelius  had  never 
exchanged  an  intimacy. 

When  Dangerfield  reached  the  end  of  the  hall,  he  found 
the  door  open  and  Pansy,  who  had  been  hastily  sum 
moned,  busy  with  the  final  touches  of  Mr.  Cornelius'  tie, 
over  which  he  was  as  particular  as  an  old  beau. 

"  All  ready  ? "  said  Dangerfield,  stopping  at  the 
threshold  by  discretion. 

"  Entrez,  entrez,  mon  vieux!  Come  in  —  I  am  with 
you  in  one  little  moment !  "  cried  Mr.  Cornelius,  who  was 
in  such  a  pitch  of  excitement  that  he  was  springing  about 
like  a  debutante  on  the  eve  of  her  first  ball.  "  Aha,  we 
will  make  a  night  of  it,  a  dinner  like  that  at  the  Cafe 
Anglais  and  a  bottle  of  wine  to  make  you  dream! 
Faisons  la  noce!  two  old  boulevardiers,  deux  vieux  mous 
taches —  heinf  Panzee,  ma  mignonne,  what  are  you 
doing  there  with  that  tie  ?  " 

"  Why,  Mr.  Cornelius,"  exclaimed  Pansy,  laughing, 
'"  how  can  I  do  anything  when  you're  prancing  around 
like  that?  Stand  still  and  put  your  chin  up!  " 

"  That  is  so  —  that  is  so.  There,  I'm  frozen  to  the 
ground.  What  a  night !  " 

Pansy  thrust  an  imperious  finger  toward  the  ceiling, 
and  he  obeyed  by  elevating  his  chin,  not  without  grum 
bling,  while  the  operation  was  completed  with  nicety. 

"There,  you're  handsome  as  Chauncey  Olcott!"  said 


3i6  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

Pansy,  smiling  at  his  excitement.  "  You'll  have  all  the 
ladies  twisting  their  heads  after  you/' 

"My  hat  and  my  cane!"  exclaimed  "the  baron,"  as 
gayly  as  though  he  had  cried,  "  My  helmet  and  my 
sword!" 

Pansy  disappeared  in  the  closet  and  emerged  polishing 
a  hat  that  might  have  come  from  a  museum.  Danger- 
field,  meanwhile,  gave  a  last  careful  survey  of  the  room. 
In  one  corner  was  a  four-poster  bed  with  the  faded  pea 
cock-blue  dressing-gown  pendent  below  a  tousled  night 
cap  of  gray  silk.  What  furniture  there  was,  and  it  con 
sisted  of  a  table,  a  chest  of  drawers,  a  bookcase,  three 
chairs,  and  a  massive  Breton  chest  heavily  reinforced  with 
iron  clasps,  was  mostly  reminiscent  of  the  First  Empire 
which  was  "  the  baron's  "  hobby,  for  the  walls  were  cov 
ered  with  engravings  of  the  great  Conqueror.  Between 
the  windows  was  the  full-length  portrait  of  an  actress 
of  the  last  generation  —  a  striking  figure  in  the  costume 
of  Adrienne  Lecouvreur,  slender  and  towering,  a  mag 
netic  brow,  ethereal  eyes,  and,  below,  the  smile  of  a 
pagan. 

Dangerfield  stood  before  the  portrait  in  long  and  pro 
found  study.  Mr.  Cornelius,  turning  from  a  search 
through  the  confusion  of  his  wardrobe  for  the  newest 
pair  of  gloves,  looked  up  and  saw  the  reverie  into  which 
his  friend  had  fallen. 

"  Elle  etait  bien  belle/'  said  Dangerfield,  catching  his 
eye. 

" N'est  ce  pas?"  The  aristocratic  little  figure  drew 
up  in  a  sort  of  military  attention.  He  glanced  at  the 
woman  in  the  frame  and  then  at  the  room  in  which  they 
stood.  "  It  was  worth  it,"  he  said  smiling,  with  that 
loyalty  unto  sentiment  that  never  dies  in  the  soul  of  a 
Frenchman. 

"  What  are  you  two  talking  about  ?  "  said  Pansy,  pout- 


Mv  hat  and  mv  cane  !  "  exc 


d  "  the  baron."    Page  316. 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  317 

ing.  "  I  don't  think  it's  at  all  decent  of  you  to  talk 
French  before  me." 

"There,  there,  ma  petite  amie!"  said  Mr.  Cornelius, 
patting  the  pink  cheeks.  "  Don't  scold !  Monsieur  Dan- 
gerfield  was  saying  only  what  he  could  say  of  you  —  that 
the  lady  was  very  beautiful." 

"  Did  you  know  her?  "  said  Pansy,  opening  her  eyes. 

"  I  had  the  great  privilege  of  seeing  her  act,"  said 
Dangerfield  carefully,  at  which  Mr.  Cornelius  sent  him  a 
pleased  glance. 

Pansy  mollified,  placed  the  odd  hat  upon  "  the  baron's  " 
head,  tilting  it  a  little  to  one  side,  so  as  to  give  him  a 
rakish  look,  and  snuggled  him  into  his  overcoat,  which 
likewise  had  a  decided  reminiscent  note.  Dangerfield 
felt  a  sudden  pang  in  watching  this  affectionate  solicitude 
—  a  feeling  of  an  emptiness  in  his  own  life  —  of  some 
thing  that  had  been  and  had  been  taken  away.  The 
thought  of  Inga,  of  the  close  companionship,  of  the 
strange,  elusive  girl,  who  had  watched  over  him  and 
fought  his  struggles,  threw  him  into  such  a  swift  dejec 
tion  that  Mr.  Cornelius,  noticing  it,  cried  out : 

"  No  blue  devils  to-night!  En  avant,  mon  vieux,  and 
to  the  charge!  Panzee,  an  old  fellow  kisses  your  cheek 
with  respect  and  gratitude  —  merci! " 

But  as  he  started  out,  he  stopped,  mumbled  something 
to  himself,  and  going  back  to  the  chest,  unlocked  it  with 
a  key  that  hung  from  his  watch-chain,  and,  holding  the 
lid  cautiously  open,  began  to  seek  among  rustling  papers. 

"  He  must  have  diamonds  there,"  said  Pansy,  laugh 
ing  ;  "  he  makes  such  a  time  over  that  box !  " 

Mr.  Cornelius  took  out  several  sheets  of  paper  covered 
with  figures,  examined  them  carefully,  thrust  them  in  his 
pocket,  and,  after  carefully  locking  the  chest,  led  the  way 
out,  locking  the  door  behind  him. 

Dangerfield  forgot  himself  in  a  momentary  absorp- 


3i8  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

tion.  He  knew  that  his  companion  must  receive  an  allow 
ance  on  the  first  of  the  month,  and  that  generally  by  the 
fifteenth  it  had  melted  away.  What  he  knew  of  his  past 
was  indistinct.  He  had  met  the  Comte  de  Retz  ( for  Mr. 
Cornelius  had  more  right  to  a  title  than  the  Arcadians 
suspected)  in  the  first  days  of  his  own  prodigal  progress 
at  Paris,  where  De  Retz's  intemperance  of  play  at  the 
gaming-table  was  public  property.  Dangerfield  remem 
bered  vaguely  the  story  that  had  run  of  his  infatuation 
for  the  beautiful  Suzanne  Danesco,  and  the  wreck  of  his 
fortune  at  the  gaming-table,  which  had  been  the  gossip 
of  Paris  for  a  month  and  then  forgotten ;  but  he  recalled 
these  things  indistinctly  with  the  feeling  that  there  had 
been  some  arrangement  by  which  the  Comte  had  effaced 
himself  to  preserve  the  future  of  his  son,  and  undertaken 
the  gradual  discharge  of  his  debts  of  honor.  He  had 
never  referred  to  these  memories  to  Mr.  Cornelius,  just 
as  he  himself  knew  that,  of  all  his  neighbors,  the  keen 
eyes  of  the  man  of  the  world  had  seen  below  the  surface 
and  comprehended  the  crisis  through  which  he  was  pass 
ing. 

Outside,  Dangerfield  suggested  the  subway,  only  to  be 
met  with  a  scornful  denial.  For  one  night  a  month,  at 
least,  the  illusion  must  be  revived  in  its  completeness. 
They  hailed  a  taxi  and  arrived  thus  at  Delmonico's.  In 
the  crowded  room,  their  table  was  reserved  and  at  each 
plate  a  gardenia  was  laid.  Gustave,  the  head  waiter,  was 
at  the  chairs  bowing  recognition,  visibly  intrigued  at  the 
unprecedented  spectacle  of  Mr.  Cornelius  arriving  with  a 
companion,  nor  was  his  surprise  diminished  by  perceiv 
ing  Dangerfield,  whom  he  knew  of  old.  Their  entrance 
occasioned  quite  a  stir  among  the  diners,  where  the 
strangely  distinctive  figure  of  Dangerfield,  with  his  one 
splash  of  gray  amid  the  tangled  black  hair,  was  quickly 
recognized.  Until  this  moment,  he  had  felt  no  unease, 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  3ICJ 

too  keenly  interested  in  the  unfolding  mystery  of  his 
companion.  But  this  entrance  into  the  restaurant,  this 
return  into  the  old  life  affected  him  like  a  dash  of  cold 
water  flung  against  his  face.  He  felt  the  sudden  turning 
of  curious  eyes,  divined  the  excited  flurry  of  whispered 
comments,  and  strode  on,  nervously  recoiling,  dimly 
aware  that  Gustave  was  addressing  his  companion  as 
"  Monsieur  le  Comte"  and  that  Mr.  Cornelius,  radiant 
as  a  collegian,  was  explaining  that  Gustave  had  served 
him  in  the  old  days  when  dining  was  an  art  and  chefs 
like  Joseph  and  Frederic  created  masterpieces.  He  went 
to  his  seat,  avoiding  recognition  of  a  dozen  ready  greet 
ings,  feeling  all  the  old  stubborn  moroseness  rising,  angry 
at  himself  that  he  should  have  so  thoughtlessly  ventured 
back  into  the  past  which  he  had  resolved  to  banish.  All 
at  once  he  was  aware  that  Gustave  was  speaking  to  him 
with  hasty  caution, —  Gustave  on  whose  sphinxlike  fea 
tures  was  a  look  of  dismay. 

"Pardon,  Monsieur  Gar-ford,  one  moment  —  excuse 
me  —  it  will  be  better  if  I  change  your  place." 

"  This  is  all  right,"  he  said,  without  much  attention. 

"I  think  you  would  prefer  —  that  is  —  Mr.  Garford 
—  forgive  me  —  there  is  some  one  quite  near " 

Dangerfield  looked  up.  Two  tables  away,  directly 
facing  him,  in  a  party  of  ten  or  a  dozen,  his  former  wife 
was  sitting. 

"  No ;  this  will  do,"  he  said  coldly  and  sat  down. 

The  test  had  brought  back  the  sang-froid  of  the  man 
of  the  world.  He  took  his  seat  in  a  most  natural  manner, 
aware  of  what  eyes  must  be  watching  his  every  expres 
sion,  and,  slipping  his  gardenia  in  his  buttonhole,  said, 
with  a  smile  for  the  public,  as  he  studied  the  menu  which 
Mr.  Cornelius  had  commanded : 

"  Really,  de  Retz,  you  are  a  connoisseur  —  the  choice 
is  perfection,  just  right  —  perfectly  balanced.  Excuse 


320  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

my  moment's  distraction.  It  happens  that  my  divorced 
wife  is  sitting  at  the  table  opposite." 

Mr.  Cornelius  hastily  suggested  changing  seats. 

"  No ;  not  for  anything  in  the  world,"  said  Dangerfield, 
with  a  grim  smile.  "  Go  on  talking  —  Oysters  from 
Ostend,  petite  marmite,  filet  de  sole  Cafe  Riche — 
Bravo !" 

Mr.  Cornelius,  thus  encouraged,  broke  into  an  enthusi 
astic  discussion  of  each  dish,  explaining  that  he  had 
chosen  filet  de  sole  Cafe  Riche ,  rather  than  Marguery,  as 
the  latter  was  a  piece  de  resistance  in  itself,  rather  than 
the  appropriate  stepping-stone  to  the  dish  of  the  evening, 
which  was  a  caneton  Joseph  cooked  with  gooseberries  and 
fine  champagne,  with  a  bottle  of  Chambertin  genuine 
cuvee  de  1872  from  the  Marquis  de  Severin's  special  re 
serve.  While  the  old  gourmet  discoursed  thus  eloquently 
on  the  art  of  the  immortal  Vat  el,  Dangerfield  looked  at 
the  woman  who  had  been  his  wife,  to  whom  he  had 
yielded  the  period  of  his  fullest  youth.  He  did  not  shift 
his  glance,  he  stared  at  her  steadily,  wondering,  not  taking 
pains  to  mask  his  curiosity,  though  he  was  aware  that 
she  flinched  under  the  estimate.  How  was  it  possible 
that  this  woman,  whom  he  saw  now  in  the  nakedness  of 
her  cold  calculating,  could  have  given  him  a  moment's 
torture ! 

"  Really,"  he  thought  to  himself,  "  it  must  have  been 
something  in  me,  a  need  of  an  outward  inspiration  that 
blinded  me  and  cloaked  her  with  illusions, —  I  myself  in 
love  with  what  I  profoundly  longed  for  and  created  in  my 
need!" 

But  if  Louise  had  no  longer  power  to  wound  him  on  his 
own  account,  she  brought  back  to  him,  with  overwhelming 
sadness,  the  memory  of  Inga,  and  the  ceaseless,  burning 
need  that  all  the  deeper  sources  of  his  nature  had  of  her 
sustaining  presence.  Of  those  who  were  at  the  table,  he 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  321 

knew  almost  all,  men  and  women  of  a  fashionable  set, 
several  defiant  of  social  censure,  others  too  firmly  en 
trenched  to  be  judged  by  their  companions.  Every  one 
at  the  table  must  have  known  what  Louise  Bowden  was, 
what  she  had  done  and  would  dare  to  do.  This  then  was 
respectability  —  of  an  extreme  cast,  yet  social  respecta 
bility!  Almost  was  he  inclined  toward  Inga's  scorn  of 
convention  and  defiance  of  society,  of  complete  denial  of 
the  world  to  judge  them  with  the  same  standards  with 
which  it  accepted  those  who  bent  towards  its  outward 
forms. 

"  A  little  glass  of  Amontillado  with  the  oysters,"  said 
"the  baron,"  "  just  to  flavor  them!" 

He  looked  down,  his  fingers  closed  over  the  slender 
neck  of  his  glass  that  held  the  first  golden  stream  back  to 
forgetfulness.  He  hesitated,  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and 
drank. 

When  he  had  groped  his  way  down  the  hall  and  found 
with  difficulty  his  door,  one  thing  was  clear  to  him  even 
in  the  swirling,  happy  numbness  of  his  brain.  He  knew 
now  the  secret  of  "  the  baron's  "  strange  existence,  of  his 
brilliant  monthly  recrudescence  and  the  long  days  of  sub 
sequent  denial.  He  knew  now  what  the  sheets  of  paper 
covered  with  ordered  figures  meant,  and  the  explanation 
6r  the  curious,  whirring  noises  which  often  at  the  dead 
of  night  came  from  behind  the  door  of  Mr.  Cornelius. 
"  The  baron  "  was  still,  as  he  had  always  been,  a  blind, 
insensate  gambler,  passionately  absorbed  in  the  quest  of 
that  touchstone  of  gamblers,  the  pursuit  of  the  infallible 
system  which  once  attained  held  the  alchemy  of  success. 
From  Delmonico's  they  had  gone  to  a  select  gambling- 
house  in  the  Forties,  where  the  Comte  de  Retz  was  as 
punctual  as  the  calendar,  and  where  he  returned,  night 
after  night,  until  the  quick  and  inevitable  night  when  ill 


322  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

luck  overwhelmed  his  meager  capital  —  a  meager  moment 
of  dramatic  sensations,  and  then  the  inevitable  return  to 
the  bleak  existence  in  the  lone  studio  lit  by  the  flare  of  an 
arc-light. 

Dangerfield  came  into  his  room,  threw  on  the  single 
gold-shaded  table-lamp  and  sat  down  beyond  the  circle  of 
light  that  cut  the  shadows  of  the  studio.  He  felt  pain 
fully,  treacherously  awake,  and  he  knew  that,  for  the 
black  balance  of  the  night,  sleep  would  not  come  until  he 
fell  over  with  physical  fatigue  at  the  mingling  of  the 
dawn.  His  surroundings,  which  lately  had  come  into  his 
intimacy,  rousing  the  pleasant  sense  of  the  harmonious, 
now  were  empty  and  hostile.  The  living  touch  was  ab 
sent,  in  the  absence  of  Inga,  just  as,  in  the  early  days  of 
his  apprenticeship,  he  had  felt  in  his  muddy  attempts  at 
painting,  the  absence  of  the  illuminating  sense  of  atmos 
phere. 

How  a  human  touch  colors  the  inanimate  world  with 
the  communicated  warmth  of  its  enchantment!  Yes; 
her  absence  had  changed  all.  It  was  no  longer  the  spot 
for  dreams  he  had  called  it  —  each  tapestry  chair  and 
table  no  longer  wrapped  around  with  the  memory  of  her, 
of  returning  hope  and  struggling  ambition  —  but  a  cold 
and  deserted  thing,  which  claimed  him,  too,  cold  and  de 
serted.  He  loved  her  beyond  what  he  had  thought  pos 
sible,  beyond  what  he  had  believed  lay  in  him  to  love,  not 
simply  as  a  part,  though  the  vital  element  in  his  life,  but 
as  the  whole  world,  the  window  through  which  all  sen 
sations  must  come  to  him.  He  had  felt  this  realization  in 
the  tricked-out  gaiety  of  the  restaurant,  in  the  sudden 
lightening  of  his  heart  as  he  had  stood  behind  Mr.  Cor 
nelius,  looking  up  at  the  ghost  of  the  fatal  romance  which 
had  sent  him  into  exile,  comprehending  the  man  who, 
over  the. flight  of  years,  could  still  pronounce  that  the 
past  had  been  worth  all  that  had  been  and  was  to  come. 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  323 

He  had  felt  it  in  his  revolt  against  all  he  had  been  born 
to,  struggled  against,  and  lived  with  in  compromise.  He 
felt  it  now  in  his  isolation  and  exile,  so  overwhelmingly 
that  he  sprang  up  and  flung  on  all  the  lights,  terrified  at 
the  reality  of  his  utter  loneliness,  staring  at  his  reflection 
in  the  mirror  as  though  at  some  uncomprehended 
stranger.  The  need  in  him  now  was  as  fierce  as  the 
horror  of  the  isolation  he  had  imposed  on  himself  — 
which  he  could  break  with  a  word,  which  depended  only 
on  him. 

After  all,  why  not?  What  she  had  pronounced  as  her 
theory  of  life  and  love  he  had  himself  a  hundred  times 
acclaimed  in  conversation,  heard  dozens  of  others  main 
tain.  His  brain  was  soaring  on  fiery  wings  with  the  di 
vine  frenzy  of  genius,  which  lifts  itself  up  with  pinions 
which  consume  themselves.  He  was  drunk  with  the  in 
toxication  of  the  old  world  and  with  other  days.  There 
was  something  superb  in  it,  something  heroically  mad  — 
not  the  sordid  drunkenness  of  small  beer.  He  felt  among 
the  privileged  of  the  earth.  He  had  a  cruel  sense  of 
power,  the  right  to  thrust  aside  petty  plebeian  scruples,  to 
take  what  he  needed.  He  was  filled  with  the  rage  of  liv 
ing,  desiring,  conquering,  to  make  an  end  of  depression 
and  weakness.  Why  should  he  stand  on  a  scruple  —  that 
was  hardly  a  scruple,  a  sentimental  yielding  to  the  con 
ventions  of  right  and  wrong  of  a  society  of  surface 
morality  against  which  he  had  himself  rebelled.  He  had 
but  to  cross  the  hall  and  knock,  to  swim  back  into  the 
stream  of  youth  and  ambition.  He  pressed  his  hands  to 
his  hot  temples,  took  a  short  fierce  breath  and  said  to 
himself : 

"Will  I  do  it?     Now?" 

At  this  moment,  a  knock  sounded  at  the  door.  His 
heart  stood  still.  Was  it  Inga  —  Inga  who  herself  in  her 
wretchedness  had  come  to  him,  knowing  his  need?  He 


324  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

went  to  it  hastily,  fearing,  hoping.  To  his  surprise,  in 
stead  of  the  girl,  it  was  Mr.  Cornelius  who  stood  at  the 
door,  beckoning  and  mysterious. 

"  Some  one  has  entered  my  room,  while  we  were  away. 
Come ;  I  show  you." 


XXXIV 

FOLLOWING  Mr.  Cornelius,  Dangerfield  went  down  the 
hall  for  an  examination.  At  the  bottom,  he  remained 
skeptical,  despite  "  the  baron's  "  assurance  that  the  win 
dow  had  been  locked  and  that  the  catch  was  now  sprung. 
There  were  scratches  on  the  surface  of  the  iron  lock  of 
the  chest  and  a  spot  of  oil  on  the  floor  beside  it.  "  The 
baron  "  was  in  a  high  state  of  excitement.  The  window- 
latch,  he  insisted,  could  have  been  sprung  by  an  ordinary 
knife. 

"  But  there  are  only  two  other  rooms  which  give  on 
the  roof,"  said  Dangerfield ;  "  Miss  Quirley's " 

"No;  not  that" 

"  And  Drinkwater's,  which  has  been  empty  for  weeks." 

"  Perhaps." 

"  That  is  certain." 

"If  so  —  why,  then,  don't  they  put  it  in  rent  again?  " 
said  Mr.  Cornelius,  shaking  his  head.  Nothing  could 
convince  him  that  an  attempted  burglary  had  not  taken 
place.  In  fact,  he  confided  the  fact  that  he  had  several 
times  had  a  suspicion  that  attempts  had  taken  place  before. 

To  Dangerfield,  the  proof  seemed  slight  —  what  was 
there  in  the  denuded  room  to  entice  a  thief?  But,  in 
order  to  humor  the  old  fellow,  he  nodded  wisely  and 
promised  to  aid  him  with  a  careful  search  on  the  mor 
row. 

He  left  him  and  went  back  to  his  room,  but  the  tyranny 
of  insomnia  still  holding  him,  he  changed  into  slippers, 
opened  the  door  and,  in  an  effort  at  physical  fatigue, 
began  to  walk  the  long  murky  corridor.  Alone,  in  his 


326  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

mechanical  journey,  back  and  forth,  along  the  creaky 
way,  wheeling  at  the  same  points  so  mechanically  that  he 
fell  to  counting  his  steps,  he  saw  all  at  once,  under  the 
door  of  Inga's  room,  a  tiny  ray  of  light  come  out.  She 
was  there,  awake ;  she  had  heard  him  —  was  waiting,  per 
haps,  wrung  by  the  same  torture  which  dominated  him, 
feeling  the  same  ache  of  separation.  She  was  there  — 
waiting ! 

His  imagination  began  to  whirl  again.  He  had  an  im 
pulse  to  break  through  things,  to  fling  obstacles  aside,  to 
hurl  down  all  that  intervened;  and  yet  he  hesitated.  A 
dozen  times  he  approached  the  door  in  an  angry  revul 
sion  against  his  self-imposed  test,  and  a  dozen  times 
passed  on.  Once  he  stopped,  leaning  against  the  wall, 
staring  at  the  knob,  which  seemed  to  turn  under  his  eyes. 
She  was  there,  she  must  be  there,  waiting  miserably. 
The  sensation  was  so  acute  that  he  felt  her  living,  breath 
ing  presence  on  the  other  side  of  the  door,  her  hand  wait 
ing  on  the  knob  that  seemed  to  turn  under  his  eyes! 
And  yet  he  went  away  and  continued  up  and  down  the 
hall,  staring  at  the  same  points,  counting  the  steps  —  up 
and  down  —  until  the  sickly  dawn  flowed  in  like  an  inun 
dation,  and  still  the  crack  under  her  door  shone  like  the 
blazing  edge  of  a  sword  blade.  .  .  . 

The  next  afternoon,  his  model  dismissed  in  despair, 
Dangerfield  sat,  head  in  his  hands,  staring  at  the  meaning 
less  canvas.  He  could  not  work.  He  had  not  worked 
since  the  day  he  had  sent  Inga  out  of  his  life. 

The  drag  of  sleepless  hours  lay  on  him,  and  the  pro 
found  void  of  the  victory  he  had  won  in  the  long  marches 
of  the  night.  Sitting  there,  in  graven  silence,  he  asked 
himself : 

"Why  didn't  I  go  in?" 

And  when  he  had  put  the  question  to  himself  again 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  327 

and  again,  he  understood.  He  had  not  yielded,  because 
the  need  of  the  inspiration  of  a  great  love  in  his  life  was 
deeper  than  his  need  of  love  itself,  because  in  the  fulness 
of  his  maturity  he  comprehended  that,  in  his  artist's 
ideality,  only  a  love  that  meant  aspiration  and  veneration 
could  restore  life  to  him,  and  that  this  love  he  must  pro 
tect  and  hold  sacred  even  against  itself. 

It  was  not  that  he  did  not  comprehend  the  essential  in 
nocence  of  the  girl's  offer,  or  the  nobility  of  her  courage, 
but  that,  deeper  than  his  intellectual  comprehension,  he 
knew  that  in  him  a  moral  fire  existed  which  he  had  not 
suspected  until  the  love  which  had  impelled  him  with 
longing  to  the  charming  figure  of  the  girl  had  illuminated 
its  depths.  Despite  all  his  reasons,  despite  a  mental  defi 
ance  of  conventions,  he  knew  that  what  called  to  him  from 
a  hidden  consciousness  was  unselfishness,  and  by  that 
token  he  knew,  too,  how  much  his  whole  being,  his  day, 
and  his  hope  of  the  future  loved  and  clung  to  her. 

What  had  she  felt  these  miserable  days?  He  knew 
that  she,  too,  had  suffered.  He  had  seen  it  in  the  stricken 
tensity  of  her  silent,  deep  eyes,  when  they  had  passed  in 
the  hall,  or  when  they  had  met  in  Tootles'  studio,  where 
she  went  often  now,  to  be  near  him  silently,  no  doubt. 
And  between  them  what  a  ridiculous  barrier  intervened  — 
a  distorted  conception  of  liberty,  born  in  the  intimate 
tragedy  of  the  past,  fed  by  the  ill-considered  doctrines  of 
the  day —  Yet  at  times  he  wondered  if  that  were  all,  if 
there  were  not,  below  her  avowed  reasons,  causes  he  could 
not  divine.  What  did  he  know  about  her?  The  longer 
he  had  known  her,  the  deeper  into  the  mists  her  figure  had 
receded.  A  few  hints  she  had  dropped  —  of  her  home, 
of  her  father;  a  few  scraps  of  gossip  about  the  young 
sculptor  who  had  been  here  before  him ;  a  few  indications ; 
Costello's  recognition  in  the  dance-hall ;  the  haunting  feel 
ing,  which  had  come  to  him  in  his  days  of  distress,  that 


328  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

there  was  something  in  all  his  exactions  and  struggles 
which  was  not  new  to  her;  the  strange  feeling  that  had 
possessed  him  at  times  that  some  one  else  was  present  at 
their  side;  her  own  calm  insistence  that  what  had  passed 
before  did  not  touch  them  now  —  all  these  confusing 
memories  closed  behind  her,  forbidding  the  return  toward 
the  past  as  though  with  impenetrable  velvet  folds  of  ob 
livion.  Yet  the  strangeness  of  it  all  fascinated  him  —  the 
audacity  that  had  borne  her  where  she  was,  the  untamed 
pride  which  lingered  in  the  slow-breaking,  confident  smile 
that  suffused  the  room  and  his  being  with  happiness ;  the 
echoes  of  hidden  waters  which  sounded  in  her  low,  modu 
lated  voice,  that  had  power  to  dispel  hot  fevers  and  bring 
him  the  cool  of  tranquillity,  as  though  gentle  fingers  had 
passed  across  his  forehead ;  the  steady  depths  of  the  sea- 
blue  eyes,  which  had  looked  gravely  out  upon  the  storm 
and  the  sunshine  of  life  —  all  this  had  him  in  its  cruel- 
sweet  spell.  His  ears  heard  nothing  but  remembered 
echoes,  and  his  eyes  were  clouded  with  the  obsession  of 
one  figure,  slender  and  supple,  with  the  grace  of  an  un 
tamed  animal,  whose  motions  were  like  the  rhythm  of 
sweet  sounds.  He  suffered  so  keenly  the  torture  of  these 
eluding  charms  that  he  sprang  up  with  a  groan,  crying 
her  name,  and,  all  at  once,  he  saw  her  there  in  the  room, 
like  a  shadow,  gazing  down  at  him. 

He  did  not  dare  to  speak.  He  stood  silently,  his  glance 
fastened  on  hers,  across  the  little  kipse  of  golden  carpet 
which  lay  between  them  like  stretches  and  stretches  of 
space.  He  did  not  dare  to  speak ;  he  was  afraid  of  what 
her  first  words  would  bring,  and  this  nameless  terror  was 
so  overwhelming  that  at  last  he  fell  back  in  his  chair  and 
covered  his  face  with  his  hands. 

Then  he  was  faintly  aware  that  she  was  speaking,  that 
her  body  was  swaying  toward  him,  like  a  perfume  spread 
ing  through  the  room. 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  329 

"  Mr.  Dan,  I  can't  —  I  can't  bear  it !  " 

The  next  moment  he  had  sprung  up;  she  was  in  his 
arms,  her  head  pressed  against  his  shoulder,  trembling 
like  a  child,  crying : 

"  Oh,  no,  I  can't  bear  it;  I  can't  bear  to  see  you  suffer." 

"  Yes;  that  is  true,"  he  said  solemnly  —  waiting. 

"  I  was  there  last  night  behind  the  door,"  she  said,  in  a 
whisper.  "  Oh,  why  didn't  you  call  me?  " 

"  Why  didn't  you  come  ?  "  he  said,  with  a  quick  breath. 

Her  lips  moved  as  though  she  were  about  to  speak,  and 
then  stopped. 

"  You  were  not  serious,  that  was  not  the  true  reason  — 
what  you  said  about  marriage,"  he  said  tumultuously. 

She  disengaged  herself  from  his  arms  and  raised  her 
eyes  to  his  face,  furrowed  with  the  sleepless  pain  which 
she  had  drawn  across  it.  She  looked  at  him  thus,  a  long 
wait,  her  lip  wavering.  Then  she  said,  without  averting 
her  eyes : 

"  Must  it  be  so  ?     You  still  insist  ?  " 

His  answer  was  a  cry,  inarticulate,  wrung  from  him 
despite  his  effort  at  control,  at  finding  her  still  unrecon 
ciled. 

"  Wait,"  she  said  hastily.  She  looked  away  from  him 
and  then  down  and  about  her  forehead  and  the  slender 
lips  the  lines  drew  in  hardness.  "  I  can't ;  I  cannot  see 
you  suffer.  I  know  that  —  that  is  all  I  know !  "  she  said 
desperately,  and  she  flung  back  her  head  as  though  fling 
ing  sudden  tears  from  her  eyes. 

"  Inga !  "  he  burst  out,  but  she  stopped  him  quietly,  her 
fingers  over  his  lips. 

"  I  will  do  as  you  wish,"  she  said  firmly,  "  on  one  con 
dition."  She  seemed  to  be  thinking  a  moment,  and  all 
at  once  she  continued  rapidly.  "  You  are  an  honorable 
man  —  I  know  that  —  I  knew  that  last  night  —  you  will 
do  what  you  say  you  will  do.  Look  at  me,  Mr.  Dan; 


330  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

promise  me  on  your  honor,  that  whenever  I  come  to  you 
and  ask  you  —  you  will  give  me  back  my  liberty,  that  you 
will  set  me  free." 

"  Whenever  ?  "  he  said  slowly,  staring  at  her. 

She  hesitated,  and  her  eyes  seemed  searching  into  his 
with  faraway  questioning. 

"  //  I  come  to  you,  then,"  she  said  carefully. 

"If  you  ever  come  to  me  with  such  a  demand,"  he  said 
slowly,  "  I  shall  do  everything  to  give  you  back  your  free 
dom.  That  is  a  promise.  I  would  have  done  so,  any 
how.''" 

She  nodded  as  though  satisfied.  Then  with  a  dignity 
that  held  him  breathless,  she  placed  her  hand  on  his  and 
said  as  though  to  her  the  words  constituted  a  ceremony, 

"  Mr.  Dan,  your  life  will  be  my  life.  I  will  have  no 
other  thought  but  you  in  my  heart  —  and  no  other  desire 
but  to  give  you  wrhat  is  in  me  to  give." 

"  Then  —  you  will  marry  me,"  he  said  slowly. 

"  Whenever  you  wish." 

"  This  is  final,  Inga?    You  will  not  change?  " 

"  You  did  not  understand,"  she  said  quietly.  "  Noth 
ing  a  stranger  can  say  can  make  me  more  yours  than  I 
am  now." 

"  And  you  love  me  ?  "  he  cried  tempestuously.  "  Inga, 
that  is  what  I  want  to  hear  you  say.  You  love  me  so 
that  you  can't  think  of  anything  else,  so  that  you  can't 
keep  from  me,  so  that  to  be  out  of  my  sight  is  torture?  " 

She  caught  her  breath  at  the  frenzy  in  his  voice. 

"  Would  I  be  here  if  I  didn't?  "  she  said. 

He  stood  away  from  her  a  moment,  scanning  her  tense 
face  greedily,  satisfied  at  last.  Yes;  she  loved  him,  be 
yond  her  pride,  beyond  her  stubborn  beliefs,  beyond  her 
fears  even !  She  loved  him  so  that  nothing  stood  against 
his  need  that  cried  out  for  her ! 

He  put  out  his  arms,  swept  away  by  a  confusing  intoxi- 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  331 

cation.  She  seemed  to  sink  into  his  embrace,  the  moist, 
warm  lips,  half  parted,  which  met  his,  were  almost  life 
less  in  their  sudden  frailty,  but  the  hands  against  his 
throat  were  like  ice.  He  hung  on  this  first  kiss  as  though 
in  it  lay  his  salvation;  a  strange,  terrifying  contact  in 
which  he  seemed  to  be  drawing  her  up  to  him,  taking  from 
her  not  only  all  her  love  but  all  her  strength,  all  her  youth, 
all  the  pulsing  vigor  of  her  body,  its  softness  and  its  fresh 
ness  to  quicken  his  tired  veins.  He  had  taken  everything, 
and  yet  it  seemed  to  him  that  she  had  given  nothing.  He 
lifted  her  face  to  his,  gazing  into  it  with  a  hunger  that 
had  awakened  never  to  be  satisfied.  Her  lips  were  smil 
ing,  but  in  her  eyes  was  the  sadness  of  renunciation,  the 
melancholy  of  the  gray  sea  when  the  heavy  winter  weighs 
upon  the  land,  and  the  bitter  mists  creep  across  the  face 
of  the  day  —  the  sadness  of  the  sea  that  holds  the  secrets 
of  time. 

"  Ah,  Inga,"  he  cried,  with  sudden  divination,  "  don't 
look  like  that !  Believe  me,  it'll  be  you,  only  you  —  all 
my  life!" 

She  looked  into  his  eyes  and  smiled,  and  while  she 
smiled,  the  tears  rose  and  fell. 


XXXV 

THE  whole  Arcade  seemed  to  change  under  the  magic 
of  Dangerfield's  radiating  happiness.  Though  neither  he 
nor  Inga  ever  referred  to  what  had  been  settled  between 
them,  every  one  seemed  to  understand  with  the  first 
glimpse  of  his  glowing  face.  The  singing  in  his  heart 
seemed  to  spread  its  note  of  joy  insensibly  among  his 
neighbors.  Perhaps  he  had  not  comprehended  before 
how  they  had  watched  breathlessly,  waiting  the  outcome 
in  fear  and  wonder. 

As  though  a  tension  had  relaxed,  the  hall  seemed  to 
sparkle  with  life ;  doors  stood  open  in  friendly  invitation, 
and  a  constant  running-in  and  -out  filled  the  floor  with 
excited  whispers  and  young  laughter.  O'Leary,  at  the 
piano,  pounded  away  for  dear  life,  rolling  out  infectious 
marches,  which  had  Tootles  wheeling  and  counter-march 
ing  in  imitation  of  his  favorite  Amazon  parade.  "  The 
baron "  trotted  about,  singing  to  himself  snatches  of 
Boulevard  songs  of  other  days,  mumbling  over  certain 
portions  which  might  be  understood.  Miss  Quirley  was 
so  sentimentally  aroused  that  she  clung  to  Inga's  hand 
at  the  first  opportunity.  Indeed,  she  would  have  liked  to 
give  away  to  the  consoling  pleasure  of  tears,  but  there 
was  something  about  Inga's  profound  and  grave  attitude 
which  forbade  such  demonstrations,  and  she  was  forced 
to  spend  her  emotional  reserves  upon  Myrtle,  whose  wed 
ding-day  was  fixed  for  the  middle  of  the  week. 

The  marriage  was  to  be  at  high  noon,  the  wedding- 
party  was  to  return  to  the  Arcade,  where  Dangerfield  was 
to  give  the  breakfast.  Mr.  Pomello  had  contemplated  an 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  333 

impressive  banquet  in  a  private  salon  of  the  neighboring 
hotel,  with  arbors  of  flowers,  scattered  flunkeys,  and  set 
pieces  of  horticultural  dishes,  which  represented  to  his 
mind  splendor  in  the  shape  of  plateaus  of  lobster  salad 
with  Cupids  and  hearts  entwined  in  crustacean  decora 
tions,  frozen  sculpture  in  colored  ices,  with  fish  and  game 
entrees  from  culinary  taxidermists.  The  proposal  was 
met  with  indignation  and  peremptorily  vetoed  by  the  lady 
most  involved. 

The  slightest  suggestion  of  being  displayed,  of  being 
put  on  parade,  sent  her  into  gusts  of  temper.  Mr.  Po- 
mello,  who  could  not  understand  the  reasons  of  her  im 
patience,  acceded  hastily.  In  fact,  during  the  last  week 
he  had  been  on  tenterhooks,  so  fearful  that  she  would 
change  her  mind  and  throw  him  over  at  the  last  moment 
that  his  stress  of  mind  was  patent  to  all.  In  truth,  there 
was  reason  for  his  apprehension.  Myrtle  Popper,  as  the 
day  approached,  grew  more  restless  and  unsettled.  For  a 
word,  she  would  flare  up  into  a  sudden  anger,  nor  try  as 
he  would,  could  he  divine  what  action  of  his  would  dis 
please  her.  With  the  others,  particularly  toward  Millie 
Brewster,  who  appeared  to  avoid  her,  she  was  haughty, 
abrupt,  and  suspicious  of  a  whisper  or  a  low-pitched  tone, 
as  though  she  felt  she  were  being  made  the  subject  of 
ridicule.  King  O'Leary,  during  this  time,  was  noticeably 
absent,  seldom  appearing  in  the  studio  and  then  only  in 
the  company  of  others. 

The  afternoon  before  the  ceremony  arrived,  and  the 
hours  \vere  spent  in  excited  preparation  for  the  morrow. 
Dangerfield,  camped  on  a  step-ladder  and  bombarded  with 
copious  and  futile  suggestions  from  Tootles  below,  was 
endeavoring  to  hang  a  symbolic  Cupid,  with  arrows  of 
mistletoe,  in  the  center  of  radiating  garlands  of  smilax, 
w^hich  ran  to  every  point  of  vantage  in  the  room.  Flick, 
stretched  on  the  sofa,  his  hands  under  his  head,  was 


334  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

adding  his  yawning  suggestions  to  the  general  confusion 
of  the  girls,  who  were  passing  and  repassing,  their  arms 
heaped  with  trailing  greens.  Mr.  Pomello,  by  the  step- 
ladder,  had  been  draped  with  vines  until  he  disappeared 
under  them  like  a  stone  satyr  overgrown  with  ivy. 

O'Leary,  who  had  finished  the  moving  of  great  pieces 
of  furniture,  had  gone  to  the  open  window  to  cool  off, 
when  Myrtle  Popper  came  abruptly  over  to  his  side.  He 
looked  up,  measured  the  distance  which  separated  them 
from  the  laughing  group  about  the  submerged  Mr.  Po 
mello,  noticed  the  look  in  the  girl's  eyes,  and  realized  that 
the  interview  he  had  persistently  avoided  had  come. 

"  Hot  work,"  he  said,  smiling  to  hide  his  confusion. 

"  Take  me  out  to  dinner  to-night/'  she  said  directly. 

"  To-night?  "  he  said,  amazed. 

"  Yes ;  I've  got  to  talk  to  you !  " 

He  shook  his  head,  and  his  face  grew  grave. 

"  No ;  can't  do  it,  Myrtle  —  sorry." 

"  You  mean,  you  won't?  " 

He  nodded. 

"  Put  it  that  way." 

Her  hand  closed  tensely  over  his  arm. 

"  King,  for  heaven's  sake  let  me  see  you ;  let  me  talk  to 
you !  You've  avoided  me  all  the  week.  I'm  desperate !  " 

"  Look  out !  "  he  said  hastily,  drawing  his  arm  away. 

"  I  don't  care,"  she  said  defiantly.  "  Listen :  Go 
down  the  hall,  down  to  the  third  floor  —  there's  no  one 
there  —  and  I'll  come  after  you." 

"  No,  I  won't,"  he  said  angrily. 

"You  won't?  King,  you  must,  you  must  —  if  you 
don't  —  I  —  I  shall  scream  —  go  mad.  I  can't  keep 
up!" 

"  Look  here,"  he  said  roughly ;  "  you've  got  no  right 
to  act  this  way  —  you're  about  to  be  married,  too  —  it 
ain't  right,  Myrtle.  You've  chosen  —  play  square !  " 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  335 

"  How  do  you  know  I'm  going  through  with  it?  "  she 
said,  with  a  catch  in  her  voice. 

"  Here,  steady  now  —  none  of  that!  "  he  said,  with  an 
apprehensive  glance  backward. 

"  Lean  out  the  window;  they  won't  pay  no  attention 
to  us,"  she  said,  under  her  breath.  "  King,  you've  got  to 
listen  to  me !  If  you  don't  —  I'll  —  I'll  throw  my  arms 
about  you  —  I'll  do  something  dreadful !  " 

"  You  wron't  do  anything  of  the  kind." 

"  Yes,  I  will,"  she  said  obstinately.  She  spoke  under 
her  breath,  her  shoulders  close  to  his,  her  lips  drawn,  and 
her  gaze  set  in  sternness  over  the  dusty  roofs  and  sooty 
chimneys.  Suddenly  she  drew  off  the  engagement  ring 
Mr.  Pomello  had  given  her,  a  magnificent  solitaire. 

"  Pretty  fine  —  isn't  it  ?  —  cost  over  a  thousand,  King 
-  -some  diamond!  " 

"  There'll  be  more  of  those,  too,"  said  O'Leary  cun 
ningly. 

She  held  it  gingerly  in  her  fingers  and  extended  her 
arm  over  the  sheer  dark  descent  into  the  thronged  street. 

"  You  say  the  word,  and  it's  down  it  goes." 

"  And  what'd  Pomello  say  ?  " 

"  Pomello  and  all  his  rocks  can  go  " —  she  laughed 
gaily  at  him,  defiantly  — "  well,  you  know  where  —  if  you 
say  the  word." 

"  I've  told  you  my  advice,"  he  said,  looking  away  from 
her.  "  It's  your  life,  not  mine.  What  have  I  got  to  do 
with  it?" 

"  Shall  I  marry  him  ?  "  she  said  obstinately. 

"  You'd  be  a  fool  if  you  didn't!  " 

"Won't  you  ever  understand?"  she  said,  in  a  low 
voice. 

"  You  ask  my  advice  —  I've  told  you  it." 

"  You've  told  me  nothing." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 


336  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

"Can't  you  understand  —  won't  you  understand  that 
I'm  throwing  myself  at  you,  King?  Have  I  got  to  make 
myself  plain?  " 

"  Don't,"  he  said  hastily. 

"  What  do  I  care  ?  It's  my  last  chance.  Listen,  King : 
Say  the  word,  and  I'm  yours.  It's  you  I  want  —  it's 
you.  You've  made  me  say  it  —  I  don't  care.  Think 
of  me  what  you  want,  but  if  you'll  as  much  as  wave 
your  little  finger  at  me,  King,  I'll  follow  —  and  that's 
flat!" 

She  stopped  breathlessly  and  waited  the  answer  which 
was  forming  in  his  mind. 

"  Well  ?  "  she  said,  at  last,  and  her  hand  stole  out  and 
lay  over  his. 

"  You  should  not  have  said  it,"  he  mumbled,  "  you  ain't 
in  your  right  mind." 

"  That's  not  the  answer  I  want,"  she  said  abruptly. 
"  King,  give  it  to  me  straight.  Is  it  to  be  me  and  you 
—  or " 

"  You're  right,  Myrtle,"  he  said,  frowning ;  "  I've  got 
to  hand  it  out  straight.  Well,  I'm  sorry.  It  can't  be." 

"  You're  saying  that  because  you're  only  thinking  of 
the  money,  because  you  think  it's  too  big  an  opportunity 
for  me,  that  you  oughtn't  to  stand  in  my  way.  Don't 
you  think  I'm  flesh  and  blood?  You  don't  think  I  can 
forget  that  —  that  time  you  took  me  in  your  arms " 

"  I  shouldn't  have  done  it !  " 

She  laughed,  a  laugh  that  made  Inga  turn  and  glance 
in  their  direction. 

"  Look  out!  "  he  said  hastily. 

"  I  don't  care ;  let  them  all  hear !     Well  ?  " 

"  Well,  kid,  I'm  sorry  —  sorry,"  he  said,  shaking  his 
head.  "  I  had  no  right  to  do  what  I  did,  because " 

"  Because  you  don't  love  me,"  she  said  quickly. 

"  Not  in  that  way,"  he  said  lamely,  looking  away  from 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  337 

her,  across  the  chimneys,  to  the  river  with  its  floating 
steam  clouds. 

"  Any  one  else?  "  she  said  finally. 

He  shook  his  head. 

"And  what  you  said's  the  truth?" 

"  The  whole  truth." 

"  Yes ;  I  guess  it  is,"  she  said  quietly. 

They  stood  a  moment  longer  at  the  window,  gazing 
aimlessly.  Then  she  slipped  the  ring  back  on  her  finger 
and  returned  to  the  crowd. 

The  wedding-breakfast  was  a  great  success.  The 
bride  went  through  the  day  with  complete  equanimity, 
without  a  trace  of  the  irritation  of  the  past  week,  and 
came  back  to  the  Arcade  a  vision  of  youth  and  gaiety 
under  the  gossamer  veil.  She  was  in  the  liveliest  spirits 
and  danced  so  repeatedly  with  King  O'Leary  that  all 
marveled,  with  the  exception  of  Mr.  Pomello,  who  moved 
about  quite  bewildered,  as  though  he  could  not  compre 
hend  that  this  thing  of  beauty  and  joy  was  actually  his. 
At  the  supper,  every  one  made  a  speech  of  congratulation, 
with  prophecies  of  future  bliss  to  the  bride  and  groom, 
in  a  wave  of  optimism  which  spread  from  Mr.  Teagan's 
simple,  romantic  soul  to  Tootles,  who  forgave  Pansy 
Hartmann  and  surreptitiously  clung  to  her  fingers  under 
the  table-cloth.  Then  King  O'Leary  rose  to  his  toast. 
What  made  him  reveal  what  he  did  no  one  could  quite 
understand  —  perhaps  it  was  the  treacherous  sentimental 
currents  of  such  affairs;  perhaps  the  explanation  lay  in 
the  cunning  of  the  punch;  perhaps  the  real  reason  was 
understood  by  only  Myrtle  herself. 

"  Ladies  and  gentlemen,"  he  said,  beginning  awkwardly 
enough,  "  you've  all  heard  about  what  Mr.  Teagan  had 
to  say  about  wedded  bliss  — " 

"  Thirty  years,  and  we've  yet  to  have  our  first  growl !  " 


338  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

said  Teagan  joyfully,  with  his  glass  upraised  to  his  better 
half. 

"  Thirty  years  and  never  a  growl,"  said  O'Leary  sol 
emnly,  and  those  near  him  saw  that  he  hesitated  and 
shifted  nervously.  "  Well,  all  I've  got  to  say  is,  I 
hope  — "  He  waved  one  hand  awkwardly  toward  the 
bride  and  groom  — "  I  hope  you  get  off  better  than  I 
did."  At  this,  every  one  drew  back  with  a  scraping  of 
chairs  and  looked  at  him  in  amazement.  O'Leary 
breathed  hard  and  went  on  obstinately :  "  Yes ;  I  wish  you 
never  get  what  I  got!  I  haven't  said  anything  about  it 
—  a  man's  own  affairs  are  his  own  affairs,  I  guess.  But 
ten  years  ago,  I  sat  down  just  as  you're  sitting  down  and 
just  as  proud  and  happy.  And  for  a  year  and  a  half  I 
was  just  that  —  the  happiest  and  proudest  man  in  North 
Ameriky  or  any  other  Ameriky.  Then  something  went 
wrong  —  I  never  knew;  I  wasn't  given  the  benefit  of 
knowing  even  that.  Perhaps  the  going  was  too  hard  — 
perhaps  —  well,  anyhow,  it  was  out  in  Seattie  and  luck 
was  against  us.  We  were  stranded  for  sure  —  seven 
teenth  of  April  —  that  was  the  day.  I  came  back  to  the 
rooms  and  found  them  empty,  everything  gone,  cleaned 
out,  even  to  the  tooth-brush  on  the  wall  and  not  a  word 
of  why  or  where  for.  That  was  eight  years  ago.  I 
never  knew  what  was  wrong  or  why  she  did  it.  I've 
never  heard  of  her  since.  I  don't  know  as  I  ought  to 
have  chucked  my  tale  of  woe  into  this  sort  of  an  affair. 
Well,  perhaps,  it  may  be  worth  while  to  remember  there 
are  other  sides  —  sides  it's  better  to  keep  away  from.  I 
hope  you'll  get  a  better  deal  than  I  did,  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Pomello!" 

He  sat  down  abruptly  and  every  one  began  talking  in 
excited  tones.  Dangerfield,  who  was  watching  the 
blurred,  staring  gaze  of  Myrtle  Pomello,  formed  his  own 
opinions  of  why  O'Leary  had  done  what  he  had  done, 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  339 

and  possibly  Mr.  Cornelius  also  understood  with  his 
shrewd,  kindly  glance.  As  for  the  others,  they  were  so 
frightened  at  the  revelation  that  they  flung  themselves 
nervously  into  a  revulsion  of  momentary  gaiety  —  all 
except  Millie  Brewster.  She  sat  quite  still,  looking  down, 
and  never  said  a  word  until  they  all  rose  from  the  table. 
Then  she  disappeared  without  any  one's  remembering  just 
when  she  had  left. 

A  week  later,  with  only  King  O'Leary  present,  Dan- 
gerfield  and  Inga  were  married  before  a  justice  of  the 
peace,  and  departed  quietly  for  the  lakes  of  New  Hamp 
shire,  where  Dangerfield  had  gone  as  a  boy,  and  where, 
in  the  unfashionable  month  of  May,  he  sought  the  se 
clusion  and  solitude  of  awakening  nature,  which  his  own 
reawakening  soul  had  begun  to  crave.  It  had  been  her 
wish  that  there  should  be  as  little  ceremony  as  possible, 
and  from  the  court-room  they  drove  directly  to  the  sta 
tion. 

"  I  can't  bear  to  think  of  other  people  watching  us  at 
such  a  time,"  she  had  said.  "  I  want  to  feel  alone." 

He  had  nodded  assent,  grateful  for  the  depth  of  deli 
cacy  which  he  divined  in  her.  Now,  in  the  carriage, 
O'Leary  left  behind  on  the  curb  with  still  uplifted  hat, 
he  had  a  feeling  of  being  indeed  alone,  alone  with  strange 
thoughts  which  surprised  him,  alone  with  the  sudden 
stranger  who  sat  silently  by  his  side,  whose  thoughts  he 
could  not  divine,  alone  and  yet  violently  and  abruptly 
apart.  She  had  passed  through  the  ceremony  as  one 
steeled  to  an  ordeal,  gravely  calm,  without  useless  words, 
neither  showing  joy,  nor  elation,  nor  trace  of  shyness  or 
excitement.  When  he  had  put  the  ring  on  her  finger 
and  the  words  had  been  pronounced  which  made  them 
man  and  wife,  she  turned  and  looked  at  him  —  a  long, 
searching  glance  that  moved  him  so  that  he  forgot  his 


340  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

surroundings  gazing  into  the  profound  eyes  that  seemed 
to  open  to  him  the  road  to  tears.  The  judge  joked  him 
for  a  laggard;  he  caught  himself,  glanced  down  at  her, 
and  kissed  her  hurriedly. 

"Best  man's  privilege!"  said  the  judge,  chuckling, 
while  the  attendants  grinned. 

She  gravely  offered  her  cheek  to  O'Leary,  who  hesi 
tated  and  then  raised  her  hand  to  his  lips. 

When  they  were  at  last  alone,  Dangerfield  said 
abruptly : 

"  You  can  take  it  off  now ;  you  don't  need  to  wear  it 
—  the  ring." 

She  took  off  her  glove  and  held  up  the  little  hand  with 
the  golden  circle  shining  among  the  slender  fingers. 
Then  she  drew  the  glove  on  again. 

"No;  I  shall  wear  it." 

He  felt  a  strangeness  in  this  intimacy,  almost  a  diffi 
dence.  He  wondered  why  he  could  not  speak  to  her, 
but  he  remained  silent  —  he  could  not  mention  trivial 
things,  and  what  lay  next  to  their  hearts  seemed  forbid 
den.  For  the  thoughts  that  had  come  to  him  now  seemed 
to  be  the  beginning  of  the  barrier  which  would  grow  be 
tween  them  day  by  day,  month  by  month,  the  prohibition 
that  every  one  instinctively  erects  to  solitudes  of  the  soul 
from  the  encroachment  of  complete  possession. 

He  had  taken  the  final  step,  and  he  felt  its  finality ;  he 
had  burned  his  bridges  behind  him  —  there  was  now  no 
retreat  back  into  the  life  from  which  he  had  come,  into 
that  kingdom  of  caste  that,  despite  the  devastation  it  had 
worked  on  him,  still  held  him  with  remembered  instinct. 

"  It's  ended.  This  will  be  my  life  from  now  on  —  a 
life  of  work.  The  other,  the  old  associations,  the  old 
friends  are  gone,"  he  said  to  himself.  "  I  have  cut  my 
self  off  from  all  that  —  whatever  happens.  I  have  done 
the  right  thing.  I  can  never  leave  her  now  —  no  matter 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  341 

what  happens.     This  is  final ;  this  is  what  I  wanted." 

It  was  done,  and  he  had  wished  it  done.  Yet  he  was 
surprised  at  the  stir  in  him  which  the  realization  had 
brought,  and,  though  he  was  angry  at  himself,  he  was 
conscious  of  a  certain  unreasoning  rebellion,  not  so  much 
at  the  fact  that  his  marriage  meant  to  him  the  seeking 
of  another  world  but  that  his  freedom  of  choice  had 
ended.  The  feeling  seemed  to  him  almost  disloyalty. 
He  hated  himself  for  entertaining  it,  and  then  he  glanced 
at  Inga,  sitting  so  straight  and  grave  by  his  side,  and 
wondered  curiously  if  such  secret  thoughts  could  live 
behind  the  brooding  of  her  eyes. 

"  What  a  rabble,  what  an  insanity  of  noise  and  ugli 
ness  !  "  he  said,  at  last,  glancing  out  the  window  at  the 
torpid,  living  masses  in  the  street,  and  the  ugly,  vacant 
masses  above,  which  shut  out  the  sky.  "  Thank  God, 
we're  getting  away  to  something  clean  and  real !  " 

She  nodded. 

"  I'm  glad." 

And  this  was  all  they  said  to  each  other  —  until  they 
had  gone  through  the  flurry  of  the  station  and  found 
their  compartment.  The  porter  stowed  their  bags, 
glanced  at  them  with  a  smile,  and  went  out,  closing  the 
door.  Presently  the  train  began  to  move,  and  something 
black  and  stifling  closed  about  them.  The  same  gravity 
still  lay  upon  her,  the  same  faraway  brooding  in  her  eyes. 
All  at  once,  at  the  compelling  touch  of  his  hand,  her 
glance  met  his,  and  then  her  lips  smiled  bravely. 

"  Doesn't  it  seem  strange  to  you  ?  "  he  said  quietly. 

"  Very." 

"  I  feel  as  if  I  have  done  the  last  thing  I  wanted  to  do 
—  brought  sorrow  into  your  life,"  he  said,  in  despair. 
"  I  don't  know ;  I  can't  understand  —  you  seem  to  have 
gone  further  from  me  than  ever  before." 

She  looked  at  him  again,  with  the  same  intense,  pro- 


342  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

phetic  scrutiny  she  had  given  him  after  the  ceremony. 
Then  she  put  out  her  hand  and  drew  his  into  the  warm 
shelter  of  hers. 

"  Don't  try  to  say  anything  —  we  can't  —  not  now/' 
she  said.  They  continued  to  sit  thus  side  by  side  silently, 
while  the  train  ran  on  into  the  fading  day. 


XXXVI 

THE  porch  of  the  bungalow  was  filled  with  trunks  and 
packing-boxes.  Across  the  settee,  piles  of  clothes,  out 
ing-shirts,  corduroy  skirts,  and  sweaters  were  balanced 
in  perilous  pyramids.  Dangerfield,  pipe  in  mouth,  bare 
headed,  sleeves  rolled  up  over  his  tanned,  muscular  fore 
arms,  came  out  of  the  camp  and  stood  a  moment  in  frown 
ing  disapproval  of  an  intruding  motor-boat,  venturing 
near  the  rocky  line  of  the  shore,  evidently  on  curiosity 
bent.  The  bungalow  stood  on  a  projecting  point,  im 
pending  over  the  lapping  waters  that  ran  in  whitening 
distances  into  broken  vistas  of  wooded  islands,  while  be 
yond,  like  crouching  leopards,  the  deep  blue  of  a  moun 
tain  range  bound  the  horizon.  It  was  mid-July  by  the 
dryness  in  the  air,  by  every  leaf  at  rest,  by  the  smoky 
haze  which  hung  over  the  heated  lake. 

The  long  razor-bow  of  the  white  racer  furrowed 
through  the  dull  waters  that  rolled  up  angrily  and  snapped 
together  in  a  hissing  serpentine  defiance. 

"  The  third  this  morning !  "  said  Dangerfield  irritably. 
*'  Why  can't  they  stay  at  their  own  end  of  the  lake?  " 

The  speeding  boat,  with  its  flash  of  white  waists  and 
colored  parasols,  swung  around  in  a  wide,  foaming  loop 
while  the  racing  throb  of  the  engine  suddenly  ceased. 
Across  the  water  came  women's  voices : 

"  Oh,  there  he  is  now !  " 

"  What  a  romantic  spot !  " 

"  She's  quite  pretty." 

"  Do  you  suppose  they're  married  ?  " 

"  Hush  —  he  may  hear  you !  " 


344  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

Then  the  engine  took  up  its  rhythmic  hammering  and 
the  boat  shot  away.  Dangerfield  breathed  a  curse  at  all 
humanity  in  general  and  those  obnoxious  members  in 
particular  who  roamed  in  motor-boats.  He  went  back 
into  the  living-room,  drew  out  a  map,  and  spread  it  on 
the  table.  For  the  last  two  weeks,  with  the  influx  of  sum 
mer  visitors,  even  the  distant  seclusion  of  their  camp 
had  been  invaded  by  these  human  pests.  Each  day  the 
feeling  of  restlessness  had  been  growing  over  him  and 
the  longing  for  flight.  The  pervading  green  monotony 
of  the  American  summer  had  come,  and  with  it  the  end 
of  the  long  day's  sketching  in  the  open  air.  Yet  he  had 
lingered,  loath  to  end  the  dream.  The  two  months  had 
drifted  away  like  the  lazy  mists  of  the  dawn  rolling  on 
the  mountainsides.  They  had  been  rich  in  the  living,  in 
the  tranquillity,  and  in  the  achievement.  The  great  liv 
ing-room,  with  its  wide  windows  and  deep  fireplace,  was 
covered  with  sketches,  rapid  water-colors  of  transient 
moods  of  the  day,  the  hazy  purples  of  the  dawn,  the  ruddy 
glow  of  early  sunset  on  the  distant  mountain-tops, 'white 
patches  of  late  snow  against  the  young,  green  meadows, 
sketches  without  other  thought  than  the  joy  of  the  im 
pulse  —  penetrating,  daring,  and  keenly  lived. 

He  searched  the  map,  studied  it  without  result,  and 
finally  pushed  it  away  in  indecision,  glanced  at  his  watch, 
and  lounged  out  onto  the  steps,  scanning  the  lake  impa 
tiently.  Resolved  to  break  up  camp  and  plunge  into  a 
remoter  solitude,  he  felt  the  unease  of  change.  He  had 
been  happy,  completely  happy.  It  had  been  to  him  home. 
He  took  out  his  watch  and  consulted  it  nervously  again, 
restless  and  dissatisfied  the  moment  he  was  forced  to  fall 
back  upon  his  own  company.  Presently,  across  the  lake, 
there  came  a  patient  chug-chug  of  a  motor  which  he  had 
learned  to  distinguish  from  every  other  engine,  and 
around  the  long  point  which  shut  out  the  village  a  dory 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  345 

appeared.  Insensibly,  the  fretting  lines  about  his  fore 
head  cleared  and  a  feeling  of  content  seemed  to  permeate 
his  body.  He  rose,  and  went  swinging  down  to  the 
dock. 

Inga  stood  erect  in  the  lumbering  flat-bottomed  dory, 
her  slender  figure  outlined  against  the  shining  lake,  clad 
in  white,  her  head  hidden  under  a  wide-brimmed  straw 
hat,  her  hair  (which  she  had  thrown  loose  the  minute  she 
had  left  the  village),  floating  lazily  out  in  the  breeze  of 
the  passage.  He  watched  her  eagerly,  hungrily,  as  she 
came  sweeping  over  the  glassy  waters  like  some  Rhine 
maiden  out  of  fairy  fastnesses. 

The  boat  slipped  swiftly  on,  made  a  quick,  sweeping 
curve,  and  rushed  at  the  dock.  Inga  bent  forward  just 
in  time,  reversed  the  engines,  and  brought  up  snugly  to 
the  side,  crying: 

"  Don't  touch.     See  how  well  I  can  do  it !  " 

He  laughed,  standing  away,  well  content  with  the  spec 
tacle  of  her  confident  youth  as  she  shut  off  the  engine, 
leaped  out,  and  made  fast.  Then  she  sprang  lightly  back, 
and,  picking  up  a  package,  flung  it  to  him. 

"  Catch.  Steak  for  dinner.  Another  coming.  Look 
out!  Bread!" 

He  caught  the  deftly  tossed  bundles  and  came  forward, 
but,  disdaining  assistance,  she  leaped  lightly  to  the  dock,, 
holding  out  a  pair  of  smudgy  hands. 

"  Don't  touch  me ;  I'm  covered  with  grease.  Had  an 
awful  time  making  her  go.  Take  my  hat." 

He  removed  the  wide  Panama,  bending  down  to  the 
lips  which  were  offered  to  him.  She  ran  to  the  end  of 
the  dock  and  kneeling  splashed  her  hands  in  the  water; 
daintiness  itself  in  the  bending  slenderness  of  her  lines, 
the  thin  skirt  clinging  to  the  willowy  hips,  the  curved  line 
of  the  leg  unconsciously  revealed,  the  spilling  masses  of 
her  hair  which,  though  caught  at  the  back,  came  tumbling 


346  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

about  her  cheeks,  now  pouting  in  disdain  at  the  soiling 
smudges. 

All  at  once  she  straightened  up,  shaking  the  brilliant 
drops  from  her  fingers,  and  glanced  up  into  his  face,  her 
intuition  feeling  immediately  the  change. 

"What  is  the  matter?" 

"They've  been  around  again  —  three  of  them!" 

Her  face  clouded;  she  nodded  gloomily. 

"  The  beasts !     Don't  mind  them." 

"  You  were  away  a  dreadfully  long  time,"  he  said  rest 
lessly. 

She  came  to  his  side,  passing  her  arm  through  his,  smil 
ing  with  the  pleasure  of  knowing  how  much  she  had  been 
desired. 

"  All  the  fault  of  the  poky  engine."  Then  she  per 
ceived  the  porch  and  the  trunks  which  he  had  dragged 
out  in  his  fitful  impatience,  and  stopped  with  an  involun 
tary  exclamation  of  dismay. 

"  Time  to  break  up  camp,"  he  said  fretfully.  "  It's 
impossible  here ! " 

"  Yes;  I  suppose  so,"  she  said  slowly. 

"  I  can't  stand  being  spied  on  —  being  watched.  I 
can't  paint." 

"  But  it's  midsummer " 

"  I  know  that,  and  yet  it  annoys  me.  I  can't  bear  to 
be  idle.  There's  so  much  to  be  done!  It  isn't  that  — 
it's  —  it's  I  want  to  get  away  —  to  be  alone.  You  under 
stand?" 

"  Of  course." 

She  nodded,  trying  to  conceal  her  disappointment, 
though,  for  a  moment,  the  horror  of  change,  of  the  ven 
ture  into  an  unknown  land  was  so  keen,  that  she  burst 
out  suddenly : 

"I  hate  to  go!" 

"  I  also  —  I  hate  to  go,"  he  said  gloomily. 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  347 

"  It's  not  what  it  is  now,"  she  said  wistfully,  with  a 
little  gesture  toward  the  wooded  shelter  which  had  been 
the  first  note  of  home  to  her;  "  it's  all  it  has  been." 

"  But  we'll  find  another  spot  just  as  this  was  —  away 
from  the  world."  She  turned  away,  but  he  caught  her 
arm.  "  Inga,  dear  —  why,  you  are  crying !  " 

"  No,  no  —  I  am  not,"  she  said,  her  lips  quivering  and 
her  deep  gray-blue  eyes  swimming  with  the  film  of  tears 
she  could  not  control.  Then,  all  at  once,  she  broke  from 
him  and  ran  away,  disappearing  in  the  woods  with  an 
imploring  wave  of  her  hand.  In  five  minutes  she  was 
back,  as  though  nothing  had  happened,  smiling  bravely. 

"  Mr.  Dan,  I'm  ashamed  of  myself!  " 

Whenever  she  wished  to  tease  him  out  of  a  contrary 
mood  by  arousing  his  ire,  she  addressed  him  as  she  had 
done  in  the  old  days  of  the  Arcade.  This  time,  he  under 
stood  that  she  was  struggling  with  her  own  moods,  and 
smiled  indulgently. 

"If  you  behave  that  way,  we'll  bundle  right  back  to 
New  York!" 

"  Oh,  no ;  you  won't  do  that  —  not  yet !  "  she  cried, 
frightened  by  the  suggestion.  She  approached,  looked 
at  him  curiously  and  said,  "Where  shall  we  go?" 

"  You've  forgotten  what  I  promised  you,"  he  said 
smiling. 

"  The  sea !  "  she  cried  rapturously. 

He  nodded. 

"But  where?  Won't  everything  be  crowded  with 
people  ?  " 

"  Not  the  place  I'm  thinking  of,"  he  said.  "  A  little 
island  up  off  the  Maine  coast,  fifty  miles  from  a  railroad, 
where  no  human  being  thinks  of  going  —  by  '  human 
being/  you  know  what  I  mean  —  inhuman  beings.  There 
are  lots  of  fishermen  and  farmers  and  rocks  and  curious 
old  inlets,  filled  with  pirates  and  sea-serpents." 


348  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

"  Really  —  and  the  sea  —  the  sea  itself! " 

"  The  sea  that  comes  sweeping  in  with  great,  long,  sleek 
combers.  Only,  I  have  written  to  an  old  skipper  of  mine 
and  don't  know  why  I  haven't  got  an  answer,"  he  added, 
frowning. 

"  Oh,  in  Maine  —  I  forgot !  " 

She  dove  into  her  waist  and  brought  out  a  letter  in  con 
trite  embarrassment.  "  Came  to-day.  I'd  quite  forgot 
ten!" 

He  glanced  at  the  postmark  eagerly,  nodded,  and  read 
the  letter  rapidly. 

"  It's  all  right,"  he  said,  glancing  up  brightly.  "  Inga, 
there's  a  little  shack  waiting  for  us,  in  the  wildest,  rock 
iest  cove  you  ever  imagined,  and  the  sea  goes  thundering 
around  the  point !  " 

She  was  so  excited  that  she  could  not  believe  it  until 
he  had  shown  her  the  letter  and  she  had  devoured  it  her 
self  with  her  own  eyes.  Then  she  sprang  into  his  arms, 
closing  her  hands  about  his  neck,  glowing  and  tremulous, 
frantic  with  joy  and  happiness,  in  one  of  those  rare  mo 
ments,  seldom  in  the  day,  when  she  showed  him  the 
tumultuous  depths  of  her  emotions.  After  a  while  they 
grew  quieter,  and  she  said: 

"  All  the  same  —  I  hate  to  go  —  it's  been  so  simple  — 
so  natural  here,  hasn't  it  ?  " 

He  nodded  gravely. 

"  It's  better  to  remember  it  so  —  a  memory  without  a 
regret." 

He  was  profoundly  in  love,  even  to  the  point  of  being 
amazed  at  the  completeness  of  his  emotion.  Everything 
about  her  surprised  him.  In  the  first  moments  he  had 
said  to  himself  that  his  days  would  be  glorified  by  the 
great  love  of  his  life,  but  that  he  would  not  be  able  to 
work.  He  found,  on  the  contrary,  that,  by  some  sure 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  349 

instinct,  she  did  not  obsess  his  thoughts,  or,  rather,  that 
she  blended  into  a  new  eagerness  of  his  imagination 
which  brought  feverish  awakening  of  all  his  mental  facul 
ties.  Instead  of  intruding,  she  seemed  to  evade  him. 
He  loved  her  with  an  increasing  desire,  for  the  very  reason 
that,  after  weeks  of  marriage,  she  remained  a  greater 
mystery  than  ever.  In  the  disillusionizing  intimacy  of 
daily  life,  ordinarily  so  fatal  to  the  fragile  garments  of 
romance,  she  still  kept  herself  aloof  and  veiled  from  him. 
From  what  instinct,  he  did  not  know  —  perhaps  from  a 
certain  unconquerable  maiden  revolt  against  the  possess 
ing  instinct  of  marriage,  a  rebellion  of  the  imagination, 
a  lawlessness  of  the  soul.  Whatever  the  reason  —  in 
stinct,  premeditation,  or  rebellion  —  he  was  grateful,  and 
did  not  seek  other  answer. 

She  had  strange  moods  of  delicacy  that  amazed  him. 
In  the  daytime,  or,  rather,  in  the  high  beat  of  the  sun,  she 
seemed  always  on  guard,  watching  him  with  alert  eyes 
that  remained  closed  in  mystery  to  his  gaze,  seldom  show 
ing  emotion,  instantly  checking  it  if  a  rare  moment  car 
ried  her  away.  Yet,  at  the  turn  of  the  day,  in  the  trans 
forming  touch  of  twilight,  she  came  closer  to  him ;  he  felt 
her  deep  eyes  fixed  in  glowing  intensity,  and  her  hand, 
without  hesitation,  came  stealing  into  his,  while  through 
her  whole  body,  something  soft  and  clinging  seemed  to 
compel  her  to  the  contact  of  his  strength.  By  night,  in 
the  secret  hours  of  rustling  leaves  and  murmur  of  stirring 
waters  washing  the  broken  shore,  with  note  of  far-off 
hoot-owl  and  slanted  silver  shower  of  moonbeam  across 
the  boarded  walls,  she  was  a  creature  all  fire  and  tender 
ness  ;  of  startled  passion  and  languorous  nestling  —  and 
each  morning,  when  he  awoke,  the  place  at  his  side  was 
vacant.  At  his  call,  she  came  flitting  in  from  the  porch, 
radiant  and  ready  for  the  day.  Gradually,  he  compre 
hended  that  she  never  wished  him  to  see  her  off  her  guard, 


350  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

disheveled,  heavy-lidded,  or  otherwise  than  pleasing  to 
his  eye. 

Once  he  questioned  her,  accusing  himself  from  motives 
of  curiosity. 

"  It's  not  quite  fair.  If  you're  going  to  steal  away 
like  that,  I  should  forbid  your  returning  to  gaze  on  me." 
He  shuddered  with  mock  emotion.  "  Heavens,  what  a 
sight  a  man  asleep  must  be,  gaping,  unshaven  and 
tousled!" 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  That's  a  different  thing." 

"How  so?" 

"  It  makes  no  difference  how  you  look ;  you  would  be 
the  same  to  me  in  rags  and  mud.  I  love  you  for  your 
strength." 

"And  I?" 

"  You  love  me  for  what  you  see,"  she  said,  after  a  mo 
ment's  hesitation. 

"  That's  not  true,"  he  said,  catching  her  shoulders. 

"  Not  entirely,"  she  admitted,  smiling.  She  studied 
him  a  moment,  with  a  far-away  anxiety  and  then  added : 
"  I  want  you  to  love  me  as  an  artist.  I  suppose  I  have 
queer  ideas.  Am  I  right?  " 

He  caught  her  roughly  to  him  with  a  laugh,  well  con 
tent. 

"  You  are  a  profound  philosopher,  young  lady,"  he 
said ;  "  you  have  analyzed  the  psychology  of  marriage 
admirably  —  though,  at  the  bottom,  I  don't  believe  you 
realize  at  all  what  makes  you  do  what  you  do." 

"  I  want  you  to  see  me  always  at  my  best,"  she  said, 
smiling. 

"  The  queer  thing  is  I  can  never  paint  you,"  he  said, 
releasing  her  and  frowning.  "  I  have  a  feeling  I  never 
shall  succeed.  Heaven  knows  I've  tried  enough " 

In  fact,  he  had  tried  not  once  but  a  score  of  times, 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  351 

always  starting  eagerly,  always  turning  away,  impatient 
at  an  expression  which  eluded  him. 

"  That  will  come." 

"  No ;  I  don't  believe  it  will." 

At  the  bottom,  undoubtedly,  it  was  because  she  herself 
still  eluded  him.  He  sought  in  vain  to  discover  what 
lay  in  her  hidden  thoughts.  Sometimes,  he  believed  her 
a  woman  who  had  read  deeply,  listened,  and  considered 
much ;  again,  he  returned  eagerly  to  the  idea  that  she  was 
only  a  child  of  nature,  primitive  and  finely  intuitive.  Yet 
there  were  moments  when  she  seemed  to  comprehend  in 
ways  that  astonished  him.  When  he  discussed  with  her, 
she  seemed  to  absorb  his  ideas,  through  the  channels  of 
her  sentiments,  and  often,  by  a  phrase,  illuminated  a 
thought  which  was  struggling  for  clarity.  But  if  he 
came  up  against  an  opinion  of  her  own  and  sought  to 
change  it  by  argument,  she  became  confused  at  once, 
incapable  of  logically  perceiving  the  truth  or  falsity  of  a 
contention.  Often,  too,  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  caught 
an  echo  of  a  far-away  personality  in  a  thought  which  he 
could  not  associate  with  her.  Then  he  would  turn  away 
with  an  uncontrollable  jealousy  of  the  past,  of  the  thing 
of  which  he  could  never  make  her  speak. 

His  curiosity  as  to  Champeno  increased  as  he  felt  the 
unfailing  charm  which  she  drew  about  him  night  and 
day.  Who  had  given  her  the  comprehension  of  the  in 
satiable  curiosity  of  a  man's  soul  which  must  be  met  with 
constant  evasion,  of  the  perilous  disillusionment  of  inti 
macy  which  must  never  be  permitted  to  seize  the  last  veil  ? 
What  kind  of  a  man  had  been  this  other  man  in  her 
life,  and  to  what  extent  had  he  captured  her  imagina 
tion? 

The  questions  on  his  lips  were  forbidden  by  their  com 
pact  and  yet  his  curiosity  never  died  out  —  and  for  that, 
in  the  happiest  moments,  he  suffered  much. 


352  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

In  the  first  weeks,  with  the  rimming  ice  on  the  spark 
ling  blue  waters  and  the  snow  patches  against  the  smoky 
blue  of  the  mountains,  brilliant  with  reflected  pinks  and 
violets  of  the  dawn  and  the  sunset,  he  had  plunged  into 
open-air  sketching  with  the  avidity  of  a  glutton.  He 
wanted  impressions,  instantaneous,  striking,  and  unified. 
He  steeped  himself  in  the  melting,  drifting  moods  of  the 
sky  and  the  mirrored  waters,  longing  for  color  as  a  mu 
sician  craves  feasts  of  harmonious  sounds.  He  worked 
rapidly,  seizing  an  impression  in  an  hour,  in  thirty  min 
utes,  ignoring  the  triviality  of  details,  consumed  only  by 
the  desire  to  imprison  a  secret  of  nature's  improvisation, 
a  flaming  orange  subduing  and  modulating  a  world  of 
grays  and  barbaric  blues  as  a  race  spreads  its  culture  over 
history,  the  yielding  of  a  tone,  the  tragedy  of  a  fairy  maze 
of  shimmering  gold,  fading  into  the  melancholy  of  the 
dusk  —  all  these  and  a  hundred  other  vibrant,  vital  im 
pulses  he  set  down  with  rapid  brush,  without  conscious 
ness  or  criticism,  buoyed  up  by  the  joy  of  working  and 
the  confidence  of  a  flowing  stroke. 

At  first,  he  had  insisted  on  Inga's  working  at  his  side, 
1but  she  quickly  perceived  that  the  suggestions  he  turned 
to  give  her  were  distracting  him  and  resolutely  refused 
to  continue.  Rainy  days,  when  he  was  forced  to  stay 
indoors,  he  was  like  a  trapped  panther,  and  then,  with 
the  coming  of  the  night,  the  old  thirst  which  lurked  still 
unconquered  in  his  flesh  awoke  fiercely  and  gripped  him 
in  its  wide-eyed  fatigue.  Sometimes  the  craving  in  him 
was  so  imperious  that  he  would  call  her  in  a  frenzy  of 
restlessness,  and  together,  clad  in  boots  and  slickers,  lit 
by  a  swinging  lantern  that  sent  long,  scouting  rays 
through  the  crowded  woods  where  slender  birches  flashed 
in  ghostly  silhouettes,  they  would  go  tramping  through 
the  night,  scaring  up  woodland  marauders  that  flung  off 
with  a  scurry  of  leaves  at  their  approach. 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  353 

Or  other  nights,  when  the  sky  was  friendly,  he  would 
place  Inga  in  the  bottom  of  the  canoe,  well  cushioned  and 
balanced  at  the  stern,  and  would  send  the  black  waters 
foaming  behind  them  for  long,  vigorous  hours,  while  he 
tired  the  physical  rebellion  that  lay  in  his  aching  appetite. 
They  spoke  rarely,  each  of  a  taciturn  temperament,  well 
content  to  be  absorbed  into  the  expanding  night  with  its 
solitary  sounds.  Sometimes  they  would  return  for  a  few 
hours'  sleep  snatched  before  the  coming  of  the  day,  and 
sometimes  they  would  linger  for  a  glorious  moment  of 
sketching  in  the  fugitive  maiden  hour  of  the  dawn.  Then 
he  would  come  back  to  camp,  worn  with  weariness  and 
the  inner  struggle,  to  fall  into  a  heavy  slumber,  drifting 
into  insensibility  with  Inga's  hand  clasped  in  his.  When 
he  awoke  beyond  high  noon,  she  would  be  sitting  on  the 
steps,  her  chin  in  her  hand,  gazing  out  at  Catamount, 
where  the  storms  came  rolling  down  to  whip  the  lake. 
By  some  strange  instinct,  the  moment  his  eyes  opened 
she  seemed  to  feel  his  gaze  on  her  and  sprang  up  immedi 
ately,  coming  lightly  to  his  side,  her  skirts  and  silken 
blouse  all  aflutter  with  the  freshness  of  the  morning 
breeze.  In  those  long  reaches  of  the  night,  when  he 
threw  all  his  weight  on  her  slender  strength,  she  seemed 
the  happiest  and  the  closest  to  him.  What  weariness  she 
herself  felt  she  hid  from  him,  ready  for  a  foray  into  the 
night  at  any  moment,  tender,  gentle,  and  healing  in  her 
touch,  which  at  times  knew,  in  a  sudden  gust  of  emotion, 
how  to  still  the  beating  restlessness  that  held  him.  He 
loved  her  profoundly  and  yet  he  seldom  showed  it  in  a 
spoken  word  —  the  reticence  of  her  own  nature  laying 
its  spell  of  silence  over  his. 


XXXVII 

ONCE  possessed  with  the  thought  of  change,  Danger- 
field  wished  to  be  off  at  once.  He  had  lived  so  keenly 
in  the  region  of  sensations  these  last  months,  that  only 
sensations  new  and  unmastered  could  answer  the  craving 
of  the  artist,  which  had  found  a  rebirth  in  the  new  life 
of  the  senses.  The  green  unanimity  of  the  July  woods 
and  the  brazen  expanse  of  the  heated  sky  tormented  his 
eye.  He  felt  a  longing  for  the  region  of  the  sea,  whose 
moods  have  alone  infinite  variety,  ever  stirring,  changing 
and  changeless. 

The  next  night,  prepared  for  departure  with  the  morn 
ing,  they  sat  on  the  steps  of  their  camp,  hand  in  hand. 

"  When  I've  made  up  my  mind  to  go,  I  can't  bear  to 
wait,"  he  said,  all  at  once.  "  Are  you  like  that?  " 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  I  love  to  stick  to  the  things  I  know,"  she  said  softly. 

The  day  had  gone  down  in  stillness  and  lassitude;  the 
night  hung  over  them  from  the  hollow  bowl  of  the  sky. 
Above  the  sharpened  silhouette  of  Catamount,  crouching 
against  the  horizon,  the  sinking  bulb  of  the  moon,  like 
some  molten  mass,  seemed  burning  sullenly.  By  some 
odd  effect  of  rising  mists,  the  red  reflection  fell  on  the 
glassed  lake  in  a  single  glowing  tongue  of  flame.  But, 
even  as  they  watched,  a  stirring  in  the  air  brought  a 
rippling,  spreading  dance  of  moonbeams  across  the  waters 
to  their  feet.  A  few  leaves  whispered  above  their  heads. 

"  Hot  to-morrow,"  he  said. 

"  Yes." 

Neither  heard  the  inconsequential  words  with  which 
they  veiled  their  thoughts.  He  was  profoundly  pene 
trated  by  the  weirdness  of  the  spectacle  before  him,  feel- 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  355 

ing  in  himself,  too,  a  consuming  heat  to  burn  up  places 
and  experiences,  a  need  of  emotion  and  progress.  She 
looked  in  awe,  sensing  something  ominous  in  the  witch 
craft  of  the  sky,  something  personal  to  her  and  the  com 
ing  months. 

"  It  makes  you  sad  to  leave  here,"  he  said  presently. 

"  Yes ;  I'm  that  way,"  she  said  apologetically.  "  Every 
tree  here  is  a  friend." 

"  We  have  been  happy  —  rarely  happy."  She  took  his 
hand  and  laid  it  against  her  cheek.  "  Whatever  I  do, 
you  will  have  done  it,  Inga,"  he  said,  with  a  note  of  emo 
tion.  "  And  there  were  moments  —  yes,  even  at  the  time 
we  were  pledging  ourselves  to  each  other,  even  in  the  train 
afterward  when  we  could  not  talk  to  each  other,  you  re 
member —  when  I  wondered  how  it  would  turn  out  — 
if,  at  first,  it  would  not  be  a  struggle  between  us. 
Curious  what  thoughts  come  to  you  at  the  queerest  times ! 
I  suppose  you  were  thinking  something  like  that  too." 

"  I  was  wondering,"  she  said  evasively. 

"  You  have  never  seen  the  sea?  "  he  said  irrelevantly. 

"  Never,  never,  except  as  a  small  child,  and  I  can't  re 
member  well." 

"  You  will  be  swept  away  by  it,"  he  said,  his  imagina 
tion  on  what  was  coming. 

"  I  have  loved  it  here,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice ;  "  I 
could  stay  here  forever." 

"Really?" 

"  Absolutely." 

"  And  I  —  I  have  been  happy  —  happier  than  in  all 
my  life  —  and  yet  I'm  impatient  to  be  away,  as  though 
I  had  taken  everything  out  of  it  that  was  to  be  taken." 

"  Yes ;  you  are  like  that,"  she  said  slowly,  and  she 
nodded  to  herself.  "  It  is  right  you  should  be." 

"  I  feel  that's  what's  going  to  send  me  ahead." 

"Yes;  it  will  do  that." 


356  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

"  Look,  there's  the  moon  going  down  behind  Cata 
mount  ! "  he  said.  She  drew  closer  to  him,  her  head  on 
his  shoulder.  He  laughed  a  teasing  laugh.  "  Soon  it'll 
be  black,  and  then  a  little  dryad  of  the  night  will  no  longer 
be  afraid  to  show  what  she  feels." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  she  cried,  closing  her  arms  about  him  sud 
denly,  and  as  his  lips  met  hers,  he  found  her  all  trembling, 
and  warm  and  agitated. 


XXXVIII 

THEY  arrived  at  their  new  home  after  a  sail  of  three 
hours  down  the  winding  shores  of  the  Maine  inlets.  The 
day  was  hot  and  clear,  the  breeze  hardly  sufficient  to  belly 
the  sails,  and  at  times  long  calms  surrounded  them  as 
they  drifted  on  the  tide.  This  new  home  was  a  fishing- 
outpost,  in  the  lee  of  a  rocky  point,  against  which  the 
vast  waters  lay  in  troubled  slumber.  During  the  hot 
voyage,  while  Dangerfield  swapped  stories  with  Captain 
Slocum,  Inga  had  crept  forward  to  the  bow  and  stood 
leaning  against  the  mast,  her  gaze  eagerly  set  down  the 
shifting  shores  to  the  approaching  solemnity  of  the  great 
sea,  which  every  ledge  seemed  ready  to  reveal.  In  her 
excitement,  she  was  impatient  as  a  child,  turning  toward 
Dangerfield  from  time  to  time  with  eyes  that  danced  with 
expectancy.  As  soon  as  they  had  made  their  dock,  she 
sprang  out  and  went  bounding  up  the  ledges  until  he  could 
see  her  figure  outlined  against  the  sky,  transfixed  in  gaz 
ing  wonder. 

When  the  baggage  and  provisions  had  been  finally 
transferred  and  the  house  inspected,  Dangerfield  climbed 
to  the  crest.  Inga  had  hardly  moved  from  her  first  struck 
attitude  of  wonder.  He  came  quietly  to  her  side,  inter 
ested  in  her  surprise,  feeling  again  old  sensations  through 
the  discovery  in  her  eyes,  as  though  watching  a  child  in 
a  playhouse.  From  where  they  stood,  shoulder  to 
shoulder,  the  rocky,  tumbling  coast  twisted  to  the  hori 
zon,  undefiled  by  sight  of  human  habitation.  At  its  stone 
feet,  the  sea,  like  a  cloth  of  peacock  blue,  lay  in  flat  com 
placency  with  faint  rim  of  winding  lace.  At  times,  across 


358  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

the  placid  expanse  a  foray  of  rippling  zephyrs  went  wan 
dering  aimlessly  and  spent  itself  until  once  more  the 
smooth  spaces  stretched  out  in  quiet  somnambulance. 
On  the  horizon,  a  fishing-boat  or  two  lay  becalmed;  a 
steamer  moved  sluggishly,  with  heavy  trail  of  impending 
smoke. 

"  It's  asleep  now,"  she  said. 

"It  will  wake." 

"  It's  so  smooth,  so  silky " 

"  Are  you  disappointed?  " 

"  No ;  no ;  it's  so  vast.  It's  asleep,  but  you  don't  trust 
it,  do  you  ?  " 

l(  What  do  you  feel  ?  "  he  asked,  watching  her  curiously. 

"  I  feel  cities,  nations,  over  there,  crowding  down  the 
horizon." 

"Not  loneliness?" 

"  No,  no ;  I  feel  so  many  human  things  in  it  —  things 
that  are  gone  and  things  that  are  coming." 

"  As  though  you  were  watching  history  pass  by,"  he 
said  gravely. 

She  looked  up  quickly  and  nodded. 

"  Funny,  that's  not  how  it  affects  me,"  he  said.  "  It 
makes  me  feel  little  —  insignificant.  It  crushes  me 
at  times,  and  at  others,  even  in  crushing  me,  it  com 
pensates  by  the  feeling  of  the  futility  of  what  we  strive 
for." 

She  drew  her  brows  together  in  a  contemplative  frown. 

"  I  don't  believe  I  could  feel  that,"  she  said,  in  wonder. 
"  I  feel  freer  and  lighter,  as  though  there  were  more  air 
to  breathe,  as  though  I  could  run  for  hours,  as  though 
there  were  no  fences  and  no  gates  to  stop  you  from  doing 
anything  you  wanted  to  do." 

He  laughed,  feeling  a  communicative  thrill. 

"  Sure  you  won't  feel  too  lonely  ? " 

"  The  idea !     With  this  ?  "     Suddenly,  to  his  surprise, 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  359 

she  flung  her  arms  about  him  and  her  lips  sought  his  rap 
turously. 

"  Why,  I  believe  you  are  some  old  sea-pirate's  daugh 
ter,  after  all!"  he  said,  astounded  by  the  unaccustomed 
display  of  emotion.  "  You're  like  another  being,  Inga 
—  even  your  eyes  seem  to  have  cleared  away  the  mists." 

"  Yes,  yes;  I  feel  it!  "  she  cried  joyfully.  "  Oh,  Mr. 
Dan,  promise  to  stay  here  forever  and  never,  never  go 
away!" 

"  Promised,"  he  said,  in  mock  solemnity.  "  We  stay 
here  forever  and  give  up  all  thought  of  cities  and  pro 
fessions —  and  even  of  luncheons  and  suppers." 

"  Oh,  dear,  I  forgot!"  she  cried  in  contrition,  and, 
laughing,  she  sprang  away  from  him  and  went  flying 
down  the  path  to  their  new  house. 

With  each  succeeding  day  which  went  slipping  by,  he 
felt  a  pervading  sense  of  heart's  ease.  Inga  was  indeed 
a  transformed  being,  a  soul  abruptly  awakened.  In  the 
city,  and  even  in  their  first  camp  by  the  lakeside,  he  had 
always  felt  in  her  a  deference  and  a  timidity  toward  him, 
as  though,  despite  her  love,  she  worshiped  at  a  distance, 
a  reticence  which  brought  her  confusion  when  his  eyes 
were  too  strongly  on  her  in  the  white  of  the  day,  which 
clung  even  to  her  lighter  moods  w7hen  she  persisted  with 
teasing  eyes  in  calling  him  "  Mr.  Dan."  Now,  all  at 
once,  all  barriers  vanished  between  them.  Whether  it 
was  the  mysterious  current  of  the  sea,  or  the  complete 
ness  of  their  isolation,  she  came  to  him  with  a  new  inde 
pendence,  the  pride  of  a  wild  animal,  monarch  of  its 
wilderness. 

Instead  of  waiting  on  his  moods,  there  were  times 
when,  to  his  surprise,  she  sprang  into  the  lead,  carrying 
him  after  her  for  a  wild  beat  along  the  shore  against  a 
growing  gale,  or  a  journey  into  the  night,  and  when,  dur- 


360  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

ing  the  day,  he  painted  the  curling  water  and  the  ad 
vancing  cliffs,  she  would  often  leave  him  for  long  hours 
of  exploration,  returning  with  the  news  of  some  felicitous 
discovery.  In  such  matters,  her  instinct  was  seldom  at 
fault.  She  seemed  to  absorb  his  own  intuitions,  to  sense 
what  he  sought  in  arrangements  of  masses  and  colors,  so 
much  so  that,  at  times,  he  seemed  to  hear  his  own 
thoughts  speaking  through  her  voice. 

Nothing  pleased  her  more  than  to  work  for  him,  and 
the  only  quarrels  they  had  were  when  he  sought  to  divide 
her  labors. 

"  Look  out,  Inga,"  he  would  say,  in  mock  sternness, 
"  you  will  spoil  me,  you  little  heathen  squaw !  " 

"  Just  make  up  your  mind/'  she  said  defiantly,  "  that 
you  exist  here  only  to  paint  —  all  the  rest  is  mine. 
Stretch  out  in  that  hammock  instantly,  and  if  you  dare 
to  move,  I'll  upset  everything,  and  then  there'll  be  no 
dinner!" 

His  resistance  never  lasted  long.  He  would  sprawl 
back  gratefully,  pipe  in  mouth,  and  watch  in  Oriental  lux 
ury,  while  she  flitted  from  the  fireplace  to  the  table,  in  the 
mellowness  of  the  summer  evenings,  busying  herself  with 
the  roasting  of  the  potatoes  and  the  broiling  of  the  ham. 
The  long  day's  work  done,  and  well  done,  satisfied  in  his 
ambitions,  he  followed  the  grace  of  her  light  movements, 
his  eyes  filled  with  never  failing  delight  in  her  youth  and 
supple  strength.  Once  he  said,  half  in  earnest,  half  in 
fun: 

"  I  suppose  you  think  you're  fooling  me  with  all  this 
domestic  pretence." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that?  "  she  asked,  her  head  on 
one  side,  the  broiler  in  the  air. 

"  I  suppose  you  think  you  are  going  to  make  me  be 
lieve  that  you  are  really  married  to  me,  whereas  I  know 
that  you  are  not  at  all." 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  361 

"  Oh,  you  do  know  that,  do  you?"  she  said,  laughing. 

"  I  do,"  he  said  solemnly.  "  The  old  justice  of  the 
peace  who  married  us  thinks  he's  bound  you  to  me  hard 
and  fast ;  but  I  know  better." 

She  set  the  broiler  back  over  the  coals  and  came  over 
to  his  side,  vastly  amused  and  yet  with  a  telltale  look  in 
her  eyes,  as  one  suddenly  surprised. 

"  You  are  a  terribly  wise  Mr.  Dan,  aren't  you  ?  " 

"  I  am,"  he  said  nodding.  "  You've  made  up  your 
mind  to  fool  me,  that's  all.  I  don't  feel  married  to  you 
in  the  least,  and  that's  the  truth.  Shouldn't  be  surprised 
to  wake  up  any  day,  young  lady,  and  find  you've  disap 
peared  —  swum  out  to  sea  or  taken  to  the  woods." 

"  I  believe  you're  half  serious?  "  she  said  with  a  smile. 

"I  am  — Pagan!" 

"  Well,  don't  you  like  my  way  the  best?  "  she  said,  look 
ing  down  at  him,  thoroughly  delighted. 

"  That  depends." 

"On  what?" 

"  On  the  end,"  he  said  abruptly. 

This  answer  brought  a  swift  change  in  mood  to  her. 
The  archness  fled  from  her  smile,  and  her  eyes  grew 
pensive  and  far-seeing. 

"  Isn't  it  enough  to  be  as  happy  as  we  are  to-day?  "  she 
said,  with  a  touch  of  sadness. 

"  I  suppose  so,"  he  said,  writh  an  uncontrollable  burst 
of  jealousy;  "particularly  when  you  can't  know  what's 
in  the  future  or  in  the  past."  He  rose  up  quickly  and 
caught  her  in  her  arms  with  a  \vild  revolt  against  the 
measure  of  herself  she  allotted  him,  crying  roughly: 
"  Inga,  you  love  one  way,  I  another,  and  sometimes  it 
drives  me  mad  to  think  of  what's  passed.  I  love  you 
as  a  man  loves ;  I  want  you  all,  completely,  to  know  every 
thing  you  have  done,  everything  that's  behind  your  eyes 
now,  everything  you're  thinking." 


362  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

In  his  outburst  of  feeling,  he  brought  her  violently  to 
him  until  his  arms  must  have  hurt  her,  and  yet  she  made 
no  protest  except  for  a  sudden  struggle  for  the  breath 
which  he  had  crushed  out  of  her  body;  but  her  face  was 
radiant  with  the  fury  she  had  roused  in  him.  Her  eyes 
faced  his  steadily,  baffling  and  amused. 

"  Yes ;  I  want  you  all,  completely  —  you,  all  your 
thoughts  —  everything  that  is  you,"  he  repeated  hungrily. 

"  No,  you  don't,"  she  said,  smiling,  and  then,  as  he 
wavered  under  the  searching  frankness  of  her  look,  she 
added,  "  now  honest  —  do  you  ?  " 

He  laughed,  drew  her  quickly  to  his  lips,  and  released 
her. 

"  You're  right." 

She  nodded  her  head  victoriously  and  went  back  to  the 
fireplace.  Then  she  turned  solemnly. 

"  I  shall  take  care  you  never  know,"  she  said  looking 
back,  "  for,  you  see,  I  know  you!" 

"  She  is  right  —  extraordinarily  right,"  he  confessed 
to  himself.  Then  he  wondered  how  she  could  divine 
such  things,  and  next  if  it  were  all  intuition  or  if  it  were 
not  the  product  of  another  experience,  another  man. 
And  this  thought  tortured  him. 


XXXIX 

WHAT  she  had  the  power  to  do  was  to  awake  in  him 
sensations,  sensations  of  mystery  and  of  charm,  sensa 
tions  of  the  rare  moods  of  nature  and  of  the  night,  sen 
sations  that  brought  the  youth  of  the  artist  thronging 
back  to  him.  Of  this  he  spoke  to  her  frankly,  trying  to 
make  her  understand.  It  was  one  evening,  when  a  sud 
den  squall  was  whistling  under  the  doors,  and  the  rain 
pellets,  wind-driven,  were  rattling  against  the  windows. 
They  were  before  the  fire-place,  the  dishes  cleaned  for 
the  night,  watching  the  glow  of  charring  logs,  Inga 
stretched  full-length  on  the  rug,  her  elbows  on  the  floor, 
chin  in  her  hands,  Dangerfield  rocking  back,  drawing  long 
clouds  of  fragrant  smoke  from  his  pipe.  He  watched  her 
(he  never  tired  of  studying  her  instinctive  poses)  with  a 
sense  of  eye-delight.  There  was  something  feline  and 
pliant  in  her  contemplation  of  the  fire,  the  wonder  one 
sees  in  a  graceful  animal  fascinated  by  a  burning  flame 
which  lies  beyond  the  world  of  its  comprehension.  Inga, 
to  him,  was  a  constant  source  of  pleasant  sensations  and 
unfathomed  surprises.  He  rose  and  laid  a  stick  on  the 
red  ruins,  cities  and  palaces  in  miniature,  and  returned 
to  his  seat,  as  the  stick  caught  fire  and  send:  its  fluttering 
shadows  into  the  room. 

"  Feels  good  to  be  here,  wind  and  rain  outside,  fire  and 
shelter,  inside  —  that's  home,"  he  said.  She  nodded 
without  turning,  divining  that  he  felt  like  talking  to  him 
self.  Presently  he  said,  as  though  appreciative  of  her 
intuition : 

"  Good  work  to-day.  I'll  make  something  big  out  of 
that  sketch,  that  inlet  seen  through  the  mist  —  bully  sky- 


364  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

line,  and  taken  just  from  the  right  spot.  There's  some 
thing  going  on  in  me,  the  power  to  feel  effects,  not  simply 
to  transcribe  them  —  thanks  to  you.  You've  done  a 
bigger  thing  than  just  getting  hold  of  me,  Inga ;  you've 
given  me  back  the  power  of  sensations  —  that's  youth, 
that's  the  artist.  Well,  to  be  an  artist  is  to  retain  youth, 
I  suppose,  the  ability  to  receive  sensations.  You've  got 
that  instinct  yourself,  primitive,  savage,  but  it's  there  in 
everything  you  do.  And  I  get  it  from  you,  from  watch 
ing  you,  from  feeling  through  your  eyes.  That's  the 
big  thing  —  to  feed  me  with  sensations.  You  see  that's 
what  civilization  has  taken  from  us,  the  power  of  sensa 
tions,  passion,  love,  hate,  fear  —  all  great  sensations  of 
the  artist.  Civilization  steps  in  and  fences  us  about; 
passion  exists  only  when  it  is  a  destructive  force;  love 
even  —  blind,  romantic  love  —  civilization  has  turned 
into  an  economical  partnership ;  hatred,  the  fierce,  cleans 
ing  passion  to  destroy,  is  taken  from  us,  even  fear,  the 
greatest  of  all,  the  fear  of  great  unknown  nature  and  hid 
den  voices  in  the  sky,  the  sea  and  the  woods,  the  terror 
of  the  night  when  the  other  world  may  return  —  civiliza 
tion  has  deprived  us  of  that,  too,  by  explaining  it.  Civ 
ilization  is  constantly  at  war  with  our  elemental  nature. 
But  to  the  artist,  the  elemental,  the  world  of  the  instincts 
and  sensations  is  the  world  of  creation.  That's  why  we 
break  through  conventions,  why  we  seem  constantly  in 
revolt  against  society  —  the  need  of  sensation.  To  con 
vey,  one  must  be  keen  to  receive —  Too  abstruse? 
Well,  that's  what  I  am  living  in,  reveling  in  now  —  yes, 
for  the  first  time  in  my  life." 

She  listened,  her  large  eyes  intent  on  him,  her  brows  a 
little  drawn,  nodding  when  he  came  to  an  end.  Yet  he 
wondered.  He  had  a  queer,  half -humorous  feeling  that 
she  had  understood  nothing,  and  yet  that  she  was  indus 
triously  storing  away  his  words,  as  a  squirrel  buries  food 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  365 

against  the  winter,  for  some  further  use  —  for  some 
other  queer  turn  of  her  existence. 

At  the  bottom,  he  was  content  that  she  should  acquiesce 
and  not  discuss,  that  she  lay  before  him  in  a  languid, 
graceful  picture  looking  out  at  him  from  eyes  that  were 
like  the  uttermost  sea.  With  her,  he  felt  absolutely, 
pleasantly  alone  with  himself,  in  a  stimulating  self-com 
munion,  his  imagination  rekindled,  his  mind  taking  flame 
with  new  ideas.  And  this  mental  fertilization  was  due, 
as  he  himself  acknowledged,  to  the  charm  of  his  existence 
\vith  her,  to  the  curiosity  she  had  awakened  in  him  with 
the  abrupt  releasing  of  riotous,  youthful  nature,  even  as 
a  wild  grace  and  glory  had  come  into  her  eyes  with  the 
liberty  of  her  released  hair,  which  came  tumbling  and 
turning  about  her  slender,  dark  face.  Sometimes,  when 
she  stood  on  the  edge  of  a  cliff,  she  flung  her  hair  com 
pletely  free,  her  head  thrown  back,  her  throat  bared,  lying 
back  on  the  arms  of  the  wind. 

"  What  a  trick  civilization  has  played  on  her !  "  he 
thought,  at  such  times.  "  She  should  be  a  bride  of  a 
Viking  rover,  not  of  me." 

One  night,  in  mid- August,  when  every  leaf  lay  flat 
upon  the  torpid  air,  he  awoke  with  a  restless  sense  of  loss. 
The  room  rose  luminous  in  the  flood  of  moonlight.  He 
turned  to  the  couch  at  his  side.  It  was  empty. 

"Inga?"  he  said  softly. 

Then  he  repeated  his  call,  and  there  was  no  answering 
sound.  He  did  not  feel  alarm,  knowing  well  her  moods, 
but,  being  wakeful,  he  felt  a  curiosity  to  know  where  her 
impulse  had  taken  her.  He  rose  and  stood  a  moment  at 
the  threshold  in  the  warm  night.  From  where  he  stood, 
the  cove  lay  revealed,  the  mellow  sands  and  the  back  of 
the  cliff,  inky  there  in  the  frown  of  the  full  moon  which 
flooded  the  shore,  the  water,  and  the  dominion  of  the  air 
above  him.  Then  he  went  quietly  up  the  path,  and  stole 


366  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

over  the  bank.  Below,  in  the  phosphorescent  waters  that 
rose  luminously  over  her  white  body,  Inga  was  floating 
over  the  long,  slow,  in-drifting  swell.  He  moved  down 
cautiously  in  the  deep  shadows,  careful  to  make  no  sound, 
taking  his  seat  on  a  projecting  ledge.  Below,  the  sanded 
strip  lay  glistening  like  an  Arabian  Nights'  field  of  jewels. 

It  was  hot  and  so  still  that  every  movement  in  the  air 
was  arrested;  even  the  twisted  bulk  of  the  moon  and  the 
few  pallid  stars  which  showed  seemed  drowsy  with  sleep, 
in  an  unnatural  sleep,  a  slumber  laid  upon  the  night  by 
witchcraft.  She  lay  upon  the  back  of  the  scarcely  stirring 
sea,  her  body  a  confused  and  softened  mass  against  the 
green-black  depth  and  the  ripple  of  the  phosphorus  which 
ran  over  her,  glistening  in  swarming  fiery  multitudes  at 
a  movement  of  her  feet  or  hands,  was  like  a  gossamer  of 
beaded  gold  outlining  the  slender  limbs.  She  floated,  her 
arms  outstretched,  her  head  turned  upward  in  the  full 
glitter  of  the  moon,  her  black  hair,  like  sea-grasses  float 
ing  about  the  dim  oval  of  her  face,  and  so  immobile  was 
her  pose,  so  devoid  of  anything  physical,  that  he  felt  as 
he  sat  there  and  watched  her,  that  he  had  surprised  a 
pagan  nymph,  stealing  back  in  the  silences  of  a  hostile 
world,  to  worship  in  ecstasy  pale  Diana,  goddess  of  the 
night. 

He  remained  silent,  scarcely  drawing  a  breath  for 
fear  of  being  heard,  in  a  sort  of  devotional  ecstasy  also. 
Before  him  was  the  mystery  of  timeless  nature,  of  forbid 
den  spaces,  of  the  great  innocent  body  of  the  world  which 
each  night  returns  to  its  maidenly  solitude  and  waits 
serene  the  moment  when  the  transient  horde  of  men  shall 
pass,  and  the  day  again  shall  wrap  her  in  silence  and  in 
solitude,  even  as  the  unconquered  night.  Under  his  eyes 
lay  the  mystery  of  the  living  flesh,  of  the  spark  of  life 
which  meant  Woman  to  him  —  Woman,  the  glowing 
atom  which  had  drifted  hither  and  thither  and  settled  a 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  367 

moment  into  his  arms,  to  wake  all  his  faculties,  all  his 
emotions  and  all  his  aspirations,  and  at  the  end  of  all  this 
tireless  giving  to  remain  —  undivined.  What  did  he 
know  of  her  even  now  —  of  this  woman  whom  the  world 
called  his,  whence  she  had  come  or  where  she  would  end. 

"  If  I  should  die  this  year  or  the  next,  what  would  be 
her  life?  "  he  thought,  and,  for  a  moment,  he  strove  pro 
foundly  to  tear  aside  the  heavy  fold  of  the  future.  He 
saw  her  attaching  herself  again  to  some  man,  of  that  he 
was  certain,  obeying  some  divine  impulse  to  accomplish 
her  purpose,  and  the  thought  of  that  other  man  of  the 
future  filled  him  with  a  restless  melancholy. 

"  The  truth  is,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  love  as  much  as 
we  can,  we  remain  always  alone,  alone  in  the  things  we 
do  not  dare  to  tell  each  other,  alone  by  the  barrier  the 
future  lays  between  us.  After  me  —  what?" 

All  at  once  over  the  surface  of  the  water,  there  came 
a  sudden  dripping  shower  of  sparks.  Inga  turned  to  the 
shore,  her  body  growing  out  of  the  waters  as  the  goddess 
herself  once  rose  to  beauty  and  to  life.  Before  the  in 
comparable  beauty  of  the  scene  he  could  not  restrain  an 
exclamation.  She  sprang  to  the  shore  and  turned, 
frightened. 

"Inga!"  he  cried  hastily. 

Instantly  she  turned  and  fled  over  the  jeweled  beach, 
bounding  away  like  a  young  deer,  while  back  over  her 
shoulder  came  her  laugh,  gay  and  tantalizing.  He  sprang 
up  in  turn,  with  a  sudden,  impetuous  rage  to  pursue  and 
overtake  her,  and  then  quickly  checked  himself  and  re 
sumed  his  seat.  Presently,  after  long  minutes,  he  heard 
a  light  crunching  in  the  sand  behind  him  and  the  next  mo 
ment  her  moist  hands  closed  over  his  eyes. 

"Do  you  think  I'm  an  awful  person?"  she  cried, 
laughing. 

He  turned  and  caught  her  yielding  body,   soft  and 


368  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

pliant  in  the  folds  of  a  great  bathrobe,  and  drew  her 
down  into  his  arms. 

"  So  that's  what  you  do  when  you  get  Bluebeard  fast 
asleep/'  he  said,  with  a  laugh  in  his  throat  which  she 
knew. 

She  nodded,  and  her  arms  stole  up  and  around  him. 

"  What  were  you  thinking  of?  "  he  said,  after  a  mo 
ment,  wondering  what  thoughts  had  been  in  her  as  she 
lay  in  the  contemplation  of  the  luminous  night. 

"I?  I  was  thinking  how  delicious  it  was."  She 
stopped,  laughed  a  little,  and  added,  "  Must  I  tell  —  well, 
then  —  how  delicious  it  was  to  bathe  all  alone  away  from 
every  one,  with  no  clothes  on ! " 

"Was  that  all?"  he  said,  with  a  sudden  disillusion 
ment.  But  instantly  he  added:  "No;  that  wasn't  it  — 
that's  a  fib.  What  was  behind  those  eyes,  Inga,  witch 
from  the  sea?  " 

She  shook  her  head  with  feigned  ignorance.  Yet 
about  her  lips  there  floated  a  strange,  wistful  smile,  and 
her  eyes,  as  they  watched  him,  seemed  to  have  depths  as 
forbidding  as  the  night  about  them. 


XL 

FOR  weeks  they  had  no  news  from  the  Arcade,  except 
a  postal  from  King  O'Leary.  It  was  far  into  September 
before  a  batch  of  letters,  which  had  journeyed  back  and 
forth  and  had  been  reenclosed,  arrived  with  news  of  the 
outer  world.  There  were  several  of  no  importance  — 
notices  of  firms  soliciting  patronage,  and  advertisements 
—  but  among  them  were  two  letters  which  Dangerfield 
pounced  upon  eagerly  —  the  first  from  Flick,  with  a 
Southern  postmark  which  excited  their  curiosity,  the  sec 
ond  from  Tootles,  which  was  deferred  for  a  later  read 
ing. 

The  New  Imperial  Lodging  House, 

Jiggs  Rest^ 

Georgia. 

Temperature,  105  in  the  cellar. 
DEAR  KIND  FOLKS  SWEPT  BY  OCEAN  BREEZES: 

I'm  in  trouble  again  —  awful  trouble,  but  this  time  it's  desper 
ate.  I've  lost  the  best  pal  in  the  world;  I  have  forfeited  the 
respect  of  the  whitest  white  man  in  Manhattan;  I  have  ruined, 
blighted,  dynamited,  sold  out,  and  Judas-Iscarioted  my  best 
friend.  I  shall  never  face  him  again,  never  look  into  his  re 
proachful  eyes.  I  couldn't  —  I  couldn't.  It  would  break  me 
all  up;  I  should  crumble  and  weep  like  a  maiden.  He  has 
forgiven  me  much,  but  he  will  never,  never  forgive  this.  I  shall 
never  return  unless  a  scheme  I  am  looking  into  here  turns  out 
big  money  and  I  can  come  back  proudly,  with  my  wallet  crack 
ing,  ready  to  make  amends.  It's  all  about  the  pride  of  Tootles' 
heart,  the  masterpiece  which  was  to  create  a  new  art,  to  dig 
nify  the  advertising  profession  and  put  a  dress  suit  into  the 
home  of  every  flat-climber.  But  first —  The  address  may  sur 
prise  you.  You're  not  as  surprised  as  me ;  I've  been  here  about 
five  days  —  I  think.  Just  how  I  came  is  also  hazy,  but  the 
evidence  is  I  came  in  a  smoker,  under  a  smoker,  or  on  top  of  a 


370  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

smoker.  Likewise,  somewhere  up  or  down  the  road  is  a  collec 
tion  of  trunks,  boxes,  and  barrels  belonging  to  me  and  con 
taining  heaven  knows  what.  I  likewise  annexed  a  coon-dog. 
He  is  with  me.  I  admire  him  because  he  manages  to  get  several 
square  meals  a  day.  I  don't  know  how  he  does  it,  but  he  does. 
I  have  named  him  Remorse  —  it's  the  way  he  looks  at  me.  The 
last  city  I  remember  is  Wilmington.  I  likewise  have  some 
faint  recollections  of  a  milkman  —  a  charming  fellow,  in  West 
Philadelphia. 

At  any  rate,  I'm  here  —  until  I  make  enough  to  get  out.  I 
could  take  all  the  money  away  from  these  rubes,  only  there  isn't 
any  money  to  take.  My  best  chance  is  selling  a  Wimpheimer 
&  Goldfinch,  silklined,  pointed  cuff,  velvet  collar,  two-button-and- 
braid-down-the-trousers  dress  suit  for  one  week's  board  and  ten 
dollars  flat  to  Jiggstown's  chief  of  police,  who's  hankering  at 
the  chance  of  a  lifetime  to  wear  one  but's  afraid  of  being 
REMARKED  !  Which  brings  me  to  the  point. 

How  did  I  acquire  thirty-two  dress  suits,  sizes  38  to  42,  18 
white-pique  vests,  three  winter  overcoats,  and  one  golf  suit? 
At  least  I  did  have  them,  because  I've  got  a  little  paper  that  tells 
me  so  in  my  pocket.  How  it  got  in  my  pocket  I  don't  know. 
Where  these  are  at  present,  I  don't  know,  with  the  exception 
of  three  dress  suits  and  a  winter  ulster  that  seem  to  have  stuck 
by  me.  If  it  would  only  snow  I  might  sell  the  overcoats  and  go 
after  the  dress  suits.  I've  got  two  checks  for  Chattanooga, 
three  for  Miami  and  one  for  Oscaloosa.  Where  I  acquired  all 
those  trunks,  I  don't  know.  I  suppose  the  dress  suits  are  in 
them.  I  can't  imagine  where  else  they  can  be. 

It  all  began  so  peacefully  too.  I'd  played  Wimpheimer  & 
Goldfinch  backward  and  forward  and  three  times  around  the 
corner  until  I  had  them  feeding  out  of  my  hand.  When  every 
thing  was  set,  I  hired  an  open-face  dray  and  tucked  the  Well- 
dressed  Man  in  it  —  uncovered  —  with  a  bunch  of  palms  at  the 
head  and  the  foot  and  started  down  Broadway.  Say,  we 
gathered  a  mob  about  us  that  had  to  be  beaten  apart !  I'd  tipped 
off  the  reporters  —  a  few  particular  friends  of  mine  —  that  this 
was  something  new  in  publicity  about  to  be  pulled  off,  and  when 
they  saw  us  floating  down  the  mob,  they  began  to  pull  the  coat 
off  me  to  get  the  inside  story.  All  I  would  give  them  was  a 
bouquet  of  dark  and  mysterious  hints.  Picture  by  famous  artist, 
identity  profound  secret,  fabulous  price,  every  figure  supposed 
to  be  a  close  portrait  of  some  of  the  swells  higher  up  (which 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  371 

was  true  —  six  flights  up).  That  started  them  on  a  fine  guess- 
ing-bee.  Well,  when  Wimpy  and  Goldy  looked  out  the  windows 
and  saw  what  was  coming,  it  was  all  off.  They  wanted  to  pin 
a  medal  on  me  and  take  me  into  the  firm.  We  set  the  canvas 
up  in  the  main  showrooms,  and  business  was  over  for  the  day. 
At  this  point,  there  came  upon  the  scene  a  little  gink  by  the 
name  of  Steinwilly  or  something  close  to  that  name. 

"  Our  purchasing  agent,"  says  Mr.  Goldfinch,  with  his  eyes 
still  bulging  at  the  Well-dressed  Man. 

"  Shall  we  talk  business  over  a  little  gentle  lunch,"  says  Stein 
willy  pleasantly. 

'Course  that's  a  way  they  have  down  there;  they  think  if  they 
buy  you  a  five-dollar  meal  you're  going  to  come  down  a  thou 
sand  or  two.  So  I  nodded  and  we  sauntered  out. 

"Ever  try  a  royal-smile  cocktail?"  says  Steinwilly. 

I  knew  that  game,  too,  but  I  looked  him  over  and  sized  up  his 
capacity,  and  I  said  to  myself,  "  Two  can  play  at  that."  There's 
where  I  was  wrong  —  besides  it  was  a  hot  day.  Well,  we  sat 
down  and  I  plumped  out  my  terms.  Twelve  hundred  outright 
and  three  hundred  extra  if  it  took  on  and  they  ran  it  another 
year.  I  was  figuring  on  falling  back  to  a  flat  thousand,  you  see. 
Steinwilly  looked  terribly  distressed  at  this,  but  I  knew  that 
game,  too,  so  I  proposed  another  flock  of  royal  smiles.  He 
brightened  up  at  once  —  reckon  he  must  have  been  living  on 
them  for  the  past  year.  So  we  matched,  and  I  won.  Then  we 
decided  to  take  in  a  show,  and  we  matched  for  the  taxi,  and 
then  for  the  tickets. 

"  Would  you  match  twelve  hundred  or  nothing  for  the  pic 
ture,"  he  said  smoothly. 

"  Nothin'  doinV  I  said. 

He  sort  of  sized  me  over  and  decided  to  wait  a  little  longer. 
Now,  I  don't  know  just  exactly  what  happened  after  this.  I 
know  we  stayed  together  for  a  good  part  of  the  night,  for  all 
I  remember  is  seeing  royal  smiles  (they're  pink,  you  know) 
blooming  on  every  bar.  Whether  I  left  him  or  he  left  me,  I 
don't  know.  Fact  there's  a  good  deal  I  don't  know,  or  why,  or 
when,  or  where,  but  the  awful  outstanding  fact  is  Steinwilly  and 
I  must  have  matched  and  I  must  have  sold  Tootles'  masterpiece 
for  a  bunch  of  dress  suits.  The  worst  of  it  is:  Where  are  the 
dress  suits?  The  memorandum  I've  got  is  signed  "  Steinwilly," 
and  there's  an  awful  scrawl  "  per  special  agreement "  but  if  I 
got  the  dress  suits,  did  I  keep  them?  I  don't  like  the  appear- 


372  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

ance  of  Remorse  on  the  scene.  Did  I  swap  a  dress  suit  for  this 
bandy-legged  pup,  I  wonder?  I'll  have  to  work  down  to  Chat 
tanooga  before  I'll  know. 

Honest,  I'm  all  broke  up  —  what  will  Tootles  say?  I  don't 
dare  write  him. 

Chattanooga  (later). 

There's  no  doubt  about  it  —  The  dress  suits  are  here,  most  of 
them.  I  met  a  conductor  on  the  way  who  greeted  me  like  a 
long-lost  brother.  Seems  I  paid  my  fare  by  contributing  one  to 
his  beautiful  appearance.  I  wonder  how  many  more  are  roam 
ing  the  sunny  South?  Couldn't  work  the  sheriff  in  Jiggstown, 
but  as  I  was  eating  on  tick,  he  concluded  he'd  save  money  by 
buying  me  a  railroad  ticket  out.  Remorse  is  here  with  me. 

Miami. 

Located  more  dress  suits,  likewise  ran  into  a  traveling  man 
whom  I  swapped  two  dress  suits  with,  for  about  half  a  ton 
of  patent  bottle-openers.  I  found  half  the  dress  suits  gone  and 
all  kinds  of  junk  in  their  place,  folding  tooth-brushes,  histories 
of  the  South,  etc.  Guess  I  must  have  gotten  into  a  traveling 
man's  convention.  Am  at  work  selling  out  the  stock,  slow  busi 
ness —  weather  against  me. 

Wonder  what  I'll  find  at  Oscaloosa. 

Break  the  news  to  Tootles,  won't  you  ?  The  way  I'm  headed 
now  it  looks  as  though  I'd  reach  the  Arcade  via  Panama  and 
Japan.  Let  me  know  what  really  did  happen  with  that  body- 
snatcher  Steinwilly.  Honest,  I'm  sick  over  it.  I  shall  never, 

never  forgive  myself. 

FLICK. 

P.  S.  I  expect  to  do  considerable  sightseeing  down  here,  but 
I'll  get  a  letter  if  you  send  it 

care  Hank 
At  the  Bar.  The  Jackson  House. 

"  Do  you  suppose  that's  all  he  got  for  the  picture  ?  " 
said  Inga,  when  they  had  ended  laughing  over  Flick's 
adventures.  "  Tootles  will  be  broken-hearted." 

"  Looks  pretty  bad,"  said  Dangerfield,  shaking  his 
head.  "  Well,  let's  get  to  the  worst."  He  took  up  Too 
tles'  letter  and  immediately  broke  into  a  roar  of  laugh 
ter. 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  373 

DEAR  FOLK: 

Lots  of  things  have  happened  since  you  left,  good,  bad,  and 
indifferent.  Flick  has  disappeared.  Where  the  deuce  he's 
landed  is  beyond  me.  He's  been  gone  two  weeks  and  never 
sent  a  word.  He  started  on  a  spree  after  selling  the  master 
piece  to  Wimpheimer  &  Goldfinch,  for  fifteen  hundred  dollars 
down  and  a  royalty  of  five  hundred  a  year.  This  must  have 
been  too  much  for  him,  for  he  started  in  to  celebrate.  Don't 
blame  him,  do  you?  It  almost  made  me  take  up  drinking.  As 
far  as  I  can  make  out  from  what  they  tell  me,  the  firm  put  one 
of  their  best  little  drinkers  up  against  Flick,  a  fellow  called 
Steinweld  —  quite  a  decent  old  sport,  too.  According  to  him, 
he  started  Flick  at  lunch,  kept  with  him  through  the  afternoon 
and  evening,  and  ran  him  into  a  couple  of  their  traveling  men 
to  take  up  the  job.  Flick  not  only  cleaned  up  the  contract,  but 
matched  the  crowd  for  all  their  spare  change  and  then  kept  on 
matching  until  he'd  won  about  six  trunks  of  spring  styles  which 
were  waiting  over  in  the  depot  to  go  out  the  next  day.  More 
than  that,  he  ran  them  into  some  benefit  ball  up  in  Terrace 
Garden.  You  know  Flick.  The  dance,  they're  not  sure  it  was 
at  the  garden,  either,  broke  up  with  a  free  fight,  and  when  they 
woke  up  the  next  day,  they  were  enjoying  the  hospitality  of  the 
city.  The  last  they  remember  of  Flick  he  was  leading  the 
grand  march  with  the  winner  of  some  popularity  contest.  They 
weren't  sure  just  where  this  was  —  they  said  they'd  been  so 
many  places !  However,  Goldfinch  was  a  sport,  stuck  by  the 
bargain,  said  they'd  been  caught  at  their  own  game.  But  what 
do  you  think  happened  to  Flick !  The  only  clue  I  have  had, 
was  the  arrival  of  a  strange-looking  pup,  which  Sassafras  says 
is  a  coon-dog,  which  came  here  in  a  box,  half  starved  and  howl 
ing  like  mischief.  Box  was  addressed  to  Flick  from  some  point 
on  a  southern  railroad  line.  Sounds  as  though  he  were  still 
alive,  doesn't  it? 

When  are  you  coming  back?  It's  awfully  glum  up  here,  you 
can  imagine,  with  everyone  away.  I've  been  working  hard,  all 
summer,  drawing  like  mad  —  think  you'll  say  I'm  getting  some 
where.  As  far  as  news  goes,  there  are  some  queer  turns.  Old 
Pomello  died  some  three  months  after  the  marriage,  over  in 
Italy  —  pneumonia,  I  believe.  Belle  Shaler  had  a  note  from 
Myrtle.  Queer,  isn't  it?  Wonder  what'll  become  of  her  now. 
She  inherits  what  the  old  fellow  had,  I  suppose.  The  news 
excited  everyone,  of  course.  You  see  Madame  Probasco,  the 


374  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

time  she  had  that  seance,  made  some  prophecy  that  fitted  in 
with  what  happened.  Millie  Brewster  is  back  after  a  visit 
home.  Have  an  idea  O'Leary  cleared  out  on  her  account. 
"  The  baron  "  hasn't  been  any  too  well,  looks  shaky,  and  then 
something  happened  that  cut  him  up  terribly.  Hit  me,  too,  for 
a  while  but  now  I've  gotten  hold  again.  Pansy  went  off  with 
that  old  scoundrel  Drinkwater.  Seems  they'd  been  seeing  each 
other  all  along,  and  he  must  have  got  some  hold  over  her, 
hypnotized  her.  Belle  was  as  surprised  as  any  of  us  and  mad 
clean  through  and  through.  We  don't  know  just  what  hap 
pened  —  hope  they're  married.  That's  about  all,  but,  Lord,  it's 
lonely  without  the  crowd!  Have  you  done  great  things?  I'm 
crazy  to  see  what  you're  bringing  back.  My  best  to  the  missis. 

TOOTLES. 

The  hilarity  which  Tootles'  elucidation  of  the  mystery 
of  the  dress  suits  occasioned,  died  out  at  the  news  of 
Pansy's  elopement.  Underneath  the  quiet  of  his  an 
nouncement,  they  divined  the  hurt  that  lay  near  his  heart. 
A  few  more  letters  remained  among  the  chaff,  which 
Dangerfield  opened  rapidly  —  announcements  of  fall  ex 
hibitions,  which  woke  in  him  curious  currents  of  impa 
tience;  a  note  from  Steingall  urging  him  to  exhibit,  an 
other  from  Quinny  with  the  news  of  the  club.  Then,  all 
of  a  sudden  his  fingers  struck  one  addressed  to 

Miss  INGA  SONDERSON. 

"  The  idea ! "  he  exclaimed,  in  pretended  wrath. 
"  Never  heard  of  such  a  person !  What  impudence !  " 

He  tossed  the  letter  over  to  her  without  curiosity,  and 
took  up  Quinny's  letter  for  a  more  careful  perusal.  The 
echoes  of  the  old  world  brought  a  strange  fluttering  to  his 
heart.  He  wondered  what  they,  the  old  friends,  believed 
had  happened  to  him  all  this  time,  and  he  wondered,  look 
ing  out  the  doorway  with  a  curious  quivering  smile,  what 
they  would  say  when  they  knew  that  he  had  not  gone 
under,  that  he  had  won  his  fight  and  was  coming  back  to 
his  own. 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  375 

He  took  a  long  breath,  and  there  was  a  new  light  in  his 
eyes  as  he  turned.  Inga  was  at  the  fireplace,  her  head 
resting  on  her  hand,  staring  into  the  flames  which  were 
licking  up  the  letter  she  had  tossed  there. 

"What  was  your  letter?"  he  said,  noticing  the  im 
mobility  of  her  attitude. 

"  Nothing  —  a  notice  from  a  publisher,  that's  all." 

He  came  closer  with  a  sudden,  leaping  jealousy  which 
he  would  have  been  at  a  loss  to  justify. 

"Is  that  true?"  he  said  slowly. 

She  nodded,  looking  at  the  burning,  twisted  mass. 

"  Inga,  tell  me  the  truth ! "  he  said,  in  a  voice  he  had 
never  used  before  with  her.  She  raised  her  head,  met  his 
burning  eyes,  and  answered  steadily  : 

"  Why,  that  was  all." 

In  the  embers,  the  flame  died  down.  He  knew  that  she 
had  lied  to  save  him  pain.  In  a  sudden  disgust  at  this 
outer  world  which  still  had  power  to  throw  its  disturbing 
shadow  across  their  Eden,  he  went  to  the  table  and  took 
up  the  whole  correspondence  and  flung  it  into  the  coals. 

"  Curse  them!     I  wish  they'd  leave  me  alone!  " 

Then  he  sat  down  and  held  his  head  in  his  hands  for 
fear  of  jumping  up,  of  seizing  her  and  turning  her  to  his 
eyes,  and  forcing  her  to  admit  that  what  lay  now  in  ashes 
had  been  a  letter  from  out  the  ashes  of  the  past,  from  that 
other  man,  whom  he  could  never  see  or  comprehend,  but 
who  haunted  his  days  and  stood  always  between  him  and 
the  sun  of  unconscious  happiness. 

"  I  hate  letters!  "  she  burst  out  as  suddenly,  and  went 
precipitately  out  of  the  door  and  flying  over  the  cliffs. 

He  made  no  move  to  follow,  but  sat  there  grimly,  star 
ing  into  the  fire,  and  what  he  thought  of  darkly  was  not 
alone  the  past  but  of  what  lay  ahead. 


XLI 

INGA  had  lied  to  him,  and  he  had  understood  the  rea 
sons  of  her  denial.  Yet  the  fact  remained  that  the  first 
lie  lay  between  them,  the  blade  that  cut  ruthlessly  through 
the  veils  of  the  summer's  illusion.  Until  then,  he  had 
lived  in  an  unreal  paradise.  The  world  had  been  exiled, 
or,  rather,  from  morning  to  night,  in  every  mood  of  na 
ture  he  had  dominated  where  he  had  walked.  There  was 
a  primitive  directness,  a  savage  charm  about  Inga  that 
had  carried  him  back  to  the  healing  savagery  of  the  soli 
tary  world.  Absorbed  in  the  fulness  of  his  artistic  re 
generation,  falling  into  pleasant  mental  languor,  an  ease 
of  the  body  and  all  the  senses,  he  had  forgotten  in  the 
quiet  reveries  of  fire-lit  evenings,  that  beyond  the  thresh 
old  there  waited  those  irreconcilable  enemies  of  the  pres 
ent —  the  haunted  past  and  the  inscrutable  future.  So 
completely  did  she  blend  into  the  roaming  moods  of  his 
mind,  so  keenly  intuitive  of  the  moment  to  listen  and  the 
moment  to  dream  that,  at  times,  stretched  indolently  and 
gracefully  before  the  roaring  logs,  she  seemed  to  wait 
his  pleasure  with  the  mute  loyalty  of  some  friendly  ani 
mal.  Now,  all  at  once,  the  spell  had  vanished. 

He  was  a  man  alive  to  fierce,  disturbing  emotions, 
aware  that,  side  by  side  with  the  blinding  figure  of  pas 
sionate  love,  was  that  relentless,  inevitable  companion  — 
primeval  jealousy  —  exacting  its  ruthless  toll  for  every 
narcotic  moment  of  oblivion.  She,  too,  was  different, 
no  longer  the  companion  whose  every  word  and  every 
thought  he  possessed,  but  something  that  drew  back  from 
him  before  the  clutching  hunger  of  his  soul,  and  veiled 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  377 

herself  in  the  obscurity  of  the  past  —  the  eternal  stranger 
—  Woman. 

He  did  not  blame  her  —  the  crueler  thing  would  have 
been  to  have  told  the  truth.  He  felt  this,  and  yet  his 
whole  nature  rebelled  against  the  intruder,  which  had 
crept  in  like  weeds  among  the  flowers.  He  could  not 
speak  to  her;  he  could  not  meet  her  eyes.  His  own  self 
seemed  to  have  run  away  from  him.  He  was  incapable 
of  rest  or  activity,  and  when  she  returned,  he  marveled 
at  the  calm  in  which  she  moved.  The  next  day  and  the 
day  after,  something  hot  and  red  stood  between  his  eyes 
and  his  canvas.  He  tried  desperately  to  paint  and  re 
mained  bewildered  by  the  void  within  him.  He  began 
a  dozen  sketches,  swore,  and  scraped  them  out,  and,  after 
long,  racking  hours,  remained  with  his  head  in  his  hands, 
staring  at  the  terrifying  white  depth  of  his  canvas  that 
seemed  to  him  to  be  something  without  end  or  beginning, 
a  vast  emptiness  into  which  he  had  sunk  all  his  hope. 

The  first  day  when  she  returned  over  the  dripping  rocks 
to  join  him  for  the  long  tramp  home,  she  asked  as  usual : 

"Good  day?" 

"  No  —  nothing,"  he  said  shortly. 

The  following  morning  when  she  appeared,  she  looked 
into  his  face  once  and  asked  no  questions.  They  were 
silent  during  the  walk,  each  curious  of  the  other,  keep 
ing  a  little  apart  as  though  a  thousand  miles  intervened 
between  them.  The  evening  had  gone  down  in  angry 
squalls  and,  across  the  white-lipped  sea,  the  wind  went 
scurrying  in  frantic  flights.  At  their  sides,  the  wakened 
sand-grasses  writhed  in  fitful  temper,  hissing  like  dis 
turbed  serpents.  Occasionally  a  whirlwind,  turning 
along  the  beach,  flung  stinging  pellets  against  their  eyes. 
A  great  restlessness,  a  rebellion  against  indistinct  things 
filled  their  breasts  and  made  them  ache,  and  persistently 
their  eyes  avoided  the  other's. 


378  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

When  they  had  gained  the  shack  and  barred  the  groan 
ing  door  against  the  assaults  of  the  storm,  she  took  the 
easel  from  his  back,  stood  a  moment  looking  solemnly 
into  his  clouded  face,  and  turned  without  a  smile.  A 
moment  later,  as  he  sat  sunk  in  a  chair  before  the  fire  to 
which  he  had  given  fiery  wings,  she  came  with  his  slip 
pers  and  knelt  at  his  feet.  Before  he  realized  what  she 
was  doing,  she  had  started  to  unlace  his  boots.  He  drew 
back  angrily,  crying : 

"  Why  do  you  do  that !  " 

But,  without  changing  her  pose,  she  remained  kneel 
ing,  and  suddenly,  clutching  his  knees,  she  cried  passion 
ately  : 

"  Oh,  please  —  please  let  me !  " 

Then,  with  a  rise  of  tears,  he  understood  the  longing 
and  the  misery  she  expressed  in  this  instinctive  submis 
sion,  and,  leaning  suddenly,  drew  her  up  into  his  arms, 
where  she  lay  with  a  catch  of  her  breath. 

"  Mr.  Dan,  Mr.  Dan,  you  are  so  unhappy !  "  she  said 
at  the  last. 

He  did  not  answer,  though  his  arms  tightened  about 
her  as  though  he  would  have  crushed  the  thing  he  loved. 

"  You  are  unhappy  —  and  I  have  made  you  so !  " 

"  It  can't  be  helped,"  he  said  bitterly. 

She  did  not  say  anything  more  and,  after  a  moment, 
drew  herself  up  and  out  of  his  arms.  Not  for  a  long 
while  did  they  speak  to  each  other,  until  the  supper  was 
over  and  the  fire  had  been  built  for  the  night.  Instead 
of  stretching  out  on  the  rug  in  feline  languor,  she  began 
to  move  restlessly  about  the  room,  with  an  indecision  that 
was  strange  to  her.  He  watched  her  through  the  shel 
tering  clouds  of  tobacco  smoke  as  she  went  from  window 
to  window,  listening  to  something  that  cried  in  the  sough 
ing  chorus  of  the  tempestuous  night  without,  and,  as  he 
watched  her,  he  wondered  if  the  day  would  close  thus 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  379 

in  this  aching  unease,  this  numbed  suffering  that  wrapped 
them  around  and  yet  held  them  remorselessly  from  each 
other.  She  came  to  the  fireplace  and  abruptly  faced  him, 
her  hands  behind  her  back,  pain  and  wistfulness  in  the 
anxious  searching  glance  she  laid  upon  him. 

"  I  told  you  a  lie,"  she  said,  all  at  once.  He  raised  his 
eyes  and  looked  at  her.  "  About  that  letter,"  she  said 
hastily. 

"Yes;  I  know." 

"  You  knew7,  of  course,"  she  said  thoughtfully. 

"  Of  course." 

"  Are  you  sure  you  would  rather  I  told  you  ?  "  she  said 
earnestly.  Then  as  he  frowned  and  gripped  his  hands 
nervously,  "  It  has  nothing  —  it  can  have  nothing  to  do 
with  us  now,"  she  said  desperately,  and,  as  he  still  hesi 
tated,  she  added :  "  It  will  only  hurt  you.  That  is  why 
I  did  what  I  did  —  not  to  hurt  you." 

"  I  know  that,  too,"  he  said.  "  You  were  right. 
Don't  tell  me." 

"  But  I  will  if  you  wish,"  she  said,  her  eyes  growing 
rounder  and  larger  in  the  intensity  of  her  gaze,  while  her 
lips  trembled  a  little. 

"  No,  no ;  I  don't  want  you  to !  " 

He  drew  a  great  sigh,  rose,  and  stretched  out  his  arms. 
But  immediately  he  had  refused  to  hear  her  explanation, 
a  revulsion  came  to  him.  It  seemed  to  him  that  anything 
were  better  than  not  to  know.  The  mystery  that  envel 
oped  them  had  a  hundred  monstrous  figures  of  doubt  and 
jealousy  in  it.  The  one  thing  he  could  not  combat  was 
the  unknown. 

"  It  was  a  man  —  a  man  who  loved  you?"  he  cried; 
before  he  had  realized  it. 

She  caught  her  breath,  startled,  collected  herself  an 
grily,  and  at  last,  looking  him  directly  in  the  eyes,  nodded 
slowly. 


380  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

He  came  closer  and  stood  staring  in  her  averted  face. 

"  And  whom  you  once  loved?  " 

She  drew  back,  turned,  looked  into  his  eyes,  and  turned 
away  again. 

"  Yes ;  since  you  would  know." 

He  hesitated.  Should  he  go  on  or  should  he  draw  back 
now  while  it  was  yet  time,  before  the  self -infliction  of 
pain,  before  the  visualizing  of  a  shadow  which  meant 
nothing  to  them  now,  which  was  of  the  past,  as  other 
things  had  been  in  his  own  memory?  All  at  once  he 
stopped,  aghast.  Tears  were  in  her  eyes,  and  her  hands 
were  at  her  throat. 

"  Why  do  you  do  that?  "  he  said  abruptly. 

"  Because  it  will  hurt  you,"  she  said,  shaking  her  head. 

"Yes,  yes  —  horribly !" 

"  What  good  does  it  do?  "  she  said,  shaking  her  head. 

"  None,  none  at  all  —  I  shan't  ask  to  know  any  more," 
he  said  firmly,  and  he  took  up  his  pipe  from  the  table 
where  he  had  flung  it  and  began  to  fill  it,  humming  to 
himself. 

She  came  and  stood  beside  him  until  he  was  ready  for 
a  light.  Then  she  struck  a  match  and  held  it  to  him. 

"  Very  becoming,"  he  said,  with  an  effort,  smiling  at 
the  sudden  glow  that  suffused  her  soft  face  and  gave 
points  of  fire  to  the  depths  of  her  eyes. 

"  I  wish  you  understood  me,"  she  said,  with  a  wistful 
arching  of  her  brows  and  a  sudden  downward  slant  of 
her  eyes  away  from  his. 

"Wish  I  did!" 

"  I  am  different  —  different  from  you,  I  suppose.  I 
don't  let  shadows  make  me  sad." 

"  No ;  you  are  never  jealous,"  he  said  bitterly.  "  In 
fact,  I  wonder  if  you  are  capable  of  such  an  emotion." 

She  appeared  to  consider  this  question. 

"  I  suppose  not,"  she  said,  at  length. 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  381 

"What!"  he  exclaimed.  "Not  even  —  not  even  if 
you  saw  another  woman  coming  into  my  life  —  really?  " 

"If  that  happened,  I  should  go  away  —  quietly,"  she 
said  thoughtfully. 

"  And  you  would  not  suffer?  " 

"  Oh,  yes  —  of  course  —  I  should  suffer,  but  I  should 
disappear  just  the  same,  for  the  world  would  be  empty 
to  me."  She  looked  at  him  a  moment,  hesitated,  and 
said :  "  That  would  be  something  real,  not  something 
that  is  ended  or  something  that  might  happen.  You  see, 
it's  this.  You  have  something  in  you  that  I  haven't  got." 

"What?" 

"  Sentiment." 

"  I  believe  that  is  so,"  he  said  suddenly,  yet  he  contin 
ued  to  look  at  her,  mystified. 

"  I  mean  it  this  way,"  she  said  pensively.  "  You  don't 
see  me  at  all  as  I  am.  You  see  me  as  you  wish  to  see  me. 
It  is  very  beautiful,  but  it  is  not  always  me,  and  so  some 
times  I  feel  that  it's  not  me  you  love  and,  and  I  won 
der " 

"  You'd  rather  I  didn't  idealize  you  ?  "  he  said,  greatly 
astonished. 

She  smiled  with  a  smile  that  changed  the  sadness  pro 
phetic  in  her  eyes  to  a  glow  of  happiness. 

"  No ;  I  want  you  to  feel  as  you  do  just  now,"  she  said 
shyly,  "  even " 

"Well,  even  what?" 

"  Even  if  you  wake  up  after,"  she  said  solemnly. 

"  Inga ! "  he  cried,  in  a  furious  protest.  But  she 
avoided  the  arms  which  sought  to  sweep  her  down  to  him. 

"  That's  what  I  mean  by  sentiment,"  she  said  hastily. 
"  Do  you  understand?  " 

He  paused,  his  curiosity  returning. 

"And  you?" 

"I?     Oh,  I  see  you  and  love  you  for  what  you  are." 


382  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

"  Even  for  my  weaknesses  ?  " 

She  looked  at  him,  her  eyes  deep  in  his  eyes. 

"  Above  all  for  that,"  she  said,  and,  though  her  lips 
turned  slowly  into  a  smile,  her  eyes  remained  sad.  "  I 
wish " 

"  What?  "  he  asked  as  she  stopped. 

She  shook  her  head. 

'  That  I  should  always  remain  what  I  was  —  a  derelict 
worth  saving  ?  " 

She  looked  at  him  suddenly  and  so  fiercely  that  he 
laughed,  and  caught  her  in  a  passionate  embrace. 

"  Look  out!  If  I  get  to  behaving  too  well,  you'll  lose 
interest  in  me,  Inga,"  he  said,  laughing. 

To  this  she  made  no  reply. 

He  was  astonished  at  the  things  she  had  shown  him 
she  had  divined.  He  recognized  their  truth.  He  even 
felt  that  in  her  eyes  was  some  strange  intuition  that  made 
them  see,  beyond  his  view,  down  the  long  lanes  of  the 
future.  But,  above  all,  he  understood  that  in  their  love 
the  first  phase  had  ended  and  another  begun  —  a  phase 
where  the  bitter  and  the  sweet,  sorrow  and  sadness,  pos 
session  and  denial  would  forevermore  go  hand  in  hand. 
She  knew  it,  too,  for  that  night  they  lay  wakef ully  in  each 
other's  arms  and  though  they  lay  clasped  in  the  oblivion 
of  the  night  they  spoke  no  word,  for  what  lay  in  their 
minds  they  could  not  say  to  each  other. 

Yet  this  knowledge  that  life  in  all  its  aspects  could  not 
be  avoided,  that  the  thoughts  which  he  cried  out  against 
could  not  be  stilled,  and  that,  even  as  he  loved  her,  the 
woman  of  the  present,  he  must  suffer  fiercely  and  weakly 
for  what  she  had  been,  entered  into  that  inner  conscious 
ness  of  the  artist  and  illuminated  it  with  a  new,  miracu 
lous  sense  of  power. 

When  he  returned  to  his  work,  the  test  of  sorrow 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  383 

brought  him  a  deep  comprehension.  In  the  completeness 
of  his  dream  he  had  forgotten  what  no  artist  should  for 
get  —  that  life  is  tragedy.  He  put  before  him  a  canvas 
which  a  week  before  had  thrilled  him  with  its  mastery. 
He  looked  now  and  saw  that  it  was  only  half  truth,  that 
he  had  done  it  in  an  ecstasy  of  sentimentalism.  He  threw 
it  aside  and  began  swiftly  to  paint  in  another.  And  as 
he  looked  upon  the  immemorial  rocks  with  their  head 
dresses  of  sand-grasses  turning  with  the  first  colorful 
touches  of  the  autumn,  he  perceived  beneath  the  surface 
pleasure  to  the  eyes  something  grim  and  tragic  in  this 
spectacle  of  summer  stifling  in  the  arms  of  autumn,  in 
these  scarred  and  rocky  sentinels,  waiting  the  momentary 
flurry  of  the  bitter  time;  the  soul  of  those  things  which 
cannot  die,  inscrutable,  contemplative  and  majestic,  amid 
the  poignant  sadness  of  the  green  world  which  must  die 
and  die  again,  endlessly  returning  to  its  pain. 

He  painted  breathlessly,  seized  by  something  poignant 
and  illuminating  that  drove  him  on,  and  when  he  had 
ended,  he  covered  the  canvas  hastily,  afraid  to  look  at  it. 
For  a  week  he  worked  in  this  frenzy,  without  pause  for 
self -analysis,  warned  only  by  the  fever  of  work  which 
possessed  him  that  what  he  had  done  was  true,  feeling  in 
himself  immense,  clarifying  changes,  a  detachment  of 
vision  he  had  never  had  —  a  new,  stern  independence  of 
the  intellect  which  he  had  purchased  at  the  price  of  the 
intoxication  of  the  senses. 

At  the  end  of  this  period,  a  certain  heaviness  of  the 
spirit  succeeded.  He  felt  that  he  had  worked  beyond  his 
capacity,  aware  of  profound  weariness  and  dejection. 
The  next  morning  he  postponed  the  morning's  sketching. 

"  No  work  to-day/'  he  said,  "  I  feel  like  looking  over 
what  I've  done.  Let's  get  out  the  canvases  and  sit  in 
judgment" 

"  First  fall  exhibition?  "  she  said,  laughing. 


384  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

"  Exactly." 

Together  they  brought  out  the  voluminous  records  of 
the  summer  and  ranged  them  about  the  walls.  As  he 
studied  them,  group  by  group,  in  their  historical  progress, 
he  nodded,  surprised  himself  at  the  richness  of  the  record, 
its  sincerity  and  grasp.  At  the  end,  he  brought  out  the 
dozen  sketches  of  the  past  fortnight,  which  he  had  put 
away  each  evening  without  an  appraising  glance,  reserv 
ing  them  even  from  Inga.  He  placed  them  in  a  row  and 
stood  back  to  watch  the  girl.  She  stood  before  them, 
making  no  comment,  but  so  accustomed  was  he  to  her 
moods,  that  he  comprehended  at  once  the  depth  of  her 
tribute.  In  truth,  she  was  overwhelmed  by  the  revelation 
of  a  new  note,  something  which  she  would  not  have  been 
able  to  define,  but  which  held  her  transfixed  by  a  pene 
trating  sense  of  mastery,  as  sometimes,  in  the  moment 
of  lightest  teasing,  she  had  felt  herself  breathlessly  im 
potent  in  the  sudden  closing-about  her  of  his  compelling 
arms. 

"  So  this  is  what  you  have  been  doing,"  she  said,  in  a 
reverie.  Then  she  turned  and  looked  at  him,  seeing  a 
new  self  in  the  man.  "  What  made  you  do  this  ?  " 

"  You." 

"I?     How  so?" 

"  Things  you've  done  —  things  you've  said,  about  sen 
timent,  you  know,"  he  said  rather  incoherently. 

His  glance  returned  to  his  work,  and  he  felt  a  sudden 
thrill,  even  an  astonishment,  transcending  all  earthly  hap 
piness  at  the  recognition  of  what  had  come  to  him. 

"  You  said  I've  done  this?  "  she  said,  frowning. 

"  By  making  me  suffer,"  he  said  quietly.  "  Oh,  I 
needed  it!  It  was  right.  It  came,  I  suppose,  with  that 
letter.  If  it  hadn't,"  he  added,  smiling,  "  I  suppose  I 
should  have  gone  on  dreaming  —  for  the  dreaming  was 
sweet  —  with  you,  Inga." 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  385 

"  Yes,  I  see,"  she  said,  nodding. 

"  What  do  you  see,  I  wonder?  "  he  said  curiously. 

"  You  don't  need  me  any  more,"  she  said,  looking  not 
at  him  but  at  the  work. 

"  I  have  gotten  above  myself,"  he  said  pensively.  "  I 
am  not  afraid  of  life  —  in  its  completeness  now.  The 
bitter  as  well  as  the  sweet  —  they  are  both  good,  both 
vital." 

"  You  see  in  a  way  that  makes  one  feel  strange  things 
—  even  to  a  sense  of  time." 

"It's  impersonal,  isn't  it?" 

"  Very." 

"For  the  first  time?" 

"  Yes." 

"  I  wonder  if  I  will  keep  it,"  he  said  moodily. 

She  turned,  laying  her  hand  on  his  arm,  nodding  her 
head,  with  conviction. 

"  You  won't  lose  it  now." 

"  And  yet,"  he  said,  laying  his  hand  on  her  head,  "  there 
are  times  when  I  wonder  if  it  had  not  been  better  —  not 
to  wake  up." 

"You  feel  differently  —  about  me,  don't  you?"  she 
said  slowly. 

"  No." 

"  Yes,  yes  —  oh,  it's  not  that  you  love  me  less,  I  think, 
but  —  but  if  I  went  away,  you  would  stand  by  yourself 
now!  I  mean  it  would  not  crush  you." 

"  Inga  —  you  will  go  away  some  day,"  he  said,  looking 
at  her  profoundly,  speaking  as  one  sometimes  does  in  in 
spired  moments  —  a  thought  which  flashes  across  the  lips 
before  the  will  can  check  it. 

For  a  moment  they  stood  staring  at  each  other,  equally 
amazed. 

"  Why  did  you  say  that?  "  she  said,  at  last,  of  the  two 
the  most  visibly  astounded. 


386  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

"  I  don't  know  —  I  hardly  knew  I'd  said  it.  And  yet 
I  believe  what  I  said  is  true.  More,  I  believe  you  believe 
so,  too.  Isn't  that  the  truth  ?  " 

"  Some  day  —  yes;  I'm  sure,"  she  said,  looking  at  him 
solemnly. 

"When,  I  wonder?" 

He  felt  as  though  something  uncanny  was  in  this  con 
versation,  a  moment  of  rare  and  absolute  truth  had 
brought  a  flash  of  the  future.  Indeed,  the  words  he  had 
spoken  astonished  him  as  much  as  they  had  Inga.  Yet 
he  felt  a  sense  of  conviction,  as  though,  before  the  verity 
of  his  work  which  faced  them,  they,  too,  had  faced  the 
truth. 

"  Are  you  —  sorry  ?  "  she  said,  at  length,  timidly. 

"That  the  dreaming  is  over?"  He  shook  his  head. 
"  I  don't  think  so,"  he  said  slowly.  "  I  feel  as  though 
now  we  can  talk  to  each  other." 

"  That  is  true,"  she  said,  moving  nearer,  and  she  added, 
"  Mr.  Dan." 

"  Trying  to  tease  me  ?  "  he  asked,  smiling. 

She  shook  her  head.  He  was  looking  into  his  canvases 
hungrily ;  he  did  not  see  her  eyes  or  comprehend  the  sig 
nificance  of  her  return  to  the  old  deference,  but,  for  a 
moment,  while  they  stood  gazing  at  the  victory  on  the 
canvas,  she  swayed  against  him  slightly,  and  her  hand 
slipped  under  his  arm  as  though  clinging  to  its  protec 
tion. 

An  hour  later,  when  he  remembered  the  suddenness 
with  which  he  had  prophesied  that  the  day  would  come 
when  she  would  go  her  own  way  out  of  his  life,  he  was 
amazed  and  puzzled  to  comprehend  the  impulse  he  had 
obeyed.  At  the  bottom,  he  believed  in  no  such  possibil 
ity.  What  he  had  said  must  have  been  said  in  some  sud 
den  cruelty  of  love  to  test  her,  to  know  that,  if  she  could 
quiver  before  such  a  possibility,  the  intensity  of  her  devo- 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  387 

tion  was  constant.  A  little  conscience-stricken,  he  re 
ferred  to  it  that  evening. 

"  That  was  a  crazy  thing  I  said  about  your  leaving," 
he  began  lightly.  "  Queer  mood  I  was  in." 

"  We  can't  help  having  queer  thoughts.  That's  nat 
ural,"  she  said  quietly,  looking  down  at  the  floor. 

He  laughed  a  full-throated,  confident  laugh. 

"  Well,  you  know,  Inga  —  I  did  feel  that  about  you  — 
at  first." 

"And  now?" 

"  Just  try,  little  viking !  " 

"  And  yet  you  are  very  " —  she  stopped  and  slowly  ac 
centuated  the  word  — "  very  different." 

"  How  so  ?  "  he  asked,  a  little  uneasily. 

She  hesitated  and  perhaps  changed  the  intention  of  her 
answer.  "  It's  the  way  you  look  at  me.  I  think  you  see 
me  as  I  am  now." 

"  That  happens  always  when  you  love,"  he  said  pen 
sively.  "  And  it  means  something  deeper,  surer  —  some 
thing  quieter.  Don't  you  think  so  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

He  could  not  divine  from  her  manner  any  special  re 
gret  or  that  any  serious  consideration  remained  from  his 
thoughtless  remark.  In  fact,  he  felt  in  her  a  new  sense 
of  closeness,  an  almost  Oriental  solicitude  of  his  slightest 
desire  or  comfort.  When  he  went  out  now  in  the  sharp 
chill  of  the  autumn  mornings,  she  no  longer  went  roam 
ing  away  over  the  rocks,  or  played  over  the  sand  reaches, 
tantalizing  the  waves  with  sudden  rushes.  Instead,  she 
camped  down  at  his  side  on  a  great  rug,  her  hands  prop 
ping  up  the  tanned  oval  face,  her  eyes  dreaming  into  the 
distance.  At  times,  he  felt  their  gaze  turned  on  him  for 
long,  unvarying  moments.  He  remembered  a  favorite 
pointer  of  his  college  days,  who  had  adored  him  as  no  one 
else  had  worshiped  him,  and  the  strange  sense  of  the  sum- 


388  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

mer's  end  which  had  possessed  the  animal  to  lie  in  mute 
staring  wonder  at  his  side,  by  some  canine  intuition  of 
change.  The  dog  had  died  years  ago.  He  had  never 
replaced  him. 

A  certain  calm  content  came  into  his  soul  in  these  soar 
ing  days.  A  change  had  operated  in  him ;  a  gust  of  di 
vine  madness  had  passed,  and  with  it  all  the  rebellion 
against  the  progress  of  life.  He  had  loved  as  youth  loves, 
blindly,  fiercely,  flinging  all  his  self  in  impulsive  sacrifice, 
longing  to  be  convinced  that  with  love  he  had  found  the 
ardent,  fiery  youth  which  he  had  renounced.  Now,  in 
the  awakened  sense  of  power,  he  faced  middle  age  with  a 
confident  triumph.  He  saw  ahead  clear  regions  of  light 
that  opened  immeasurable  horizons  of  life.  He  had 
found  himself,  and,  as  he  looked  at  her  from  time  to  time, 
with  eyes  satisfied  with  the  charm  of  life  and  color,  he 
said  to  himself  that  he  would  never  again  be  capable  of 
the  fierce,  gripping  ache  of  jealousy  which  had  possessed 
him.  Yet  it  was  good  to  have  her  close  to  his  side,  to 
listen  to  the  low  music  of  her  voice,  and  yield  to  the 
enveloping  charm  of  her  ministering  devotion.  The  first 
obsessing  spell  had  given  place  to  this  —  it  was  good  to 
be  so  loved.  She  was  the  companion  above  all  others  he 
needed  for  what  lay  ahead.  It  was  even  providential. 
He  felt  a  deep  and  tender  sense  of  gratitude  that  softened 
the  almost  cruel  confidence  which  had  come  to  him  in  his 
new  self-sufficiency. 

By  the  middle  of  November,  the  weather  had  become 
so  stormy  and  chill  that  work  was  only  a  question  of  hap 
hazard  moments.  He  began  to  feel  a  new  longing  —  an 
impulse  back  to  that  world  of  conflict  and  multitudes, 
of  strife  and  jealousy  and  competition,  which  he  had 
left  behind  him  in  loathing  and  renunciation.  When  the 
fog  and  the  rain  hung  outside,  he  would  spend  long  days 
in  contemplating  his  sketches,  making  notes  of  future 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  389 

compositions  to  be  arranged.  He  had  gone  far  and  he 
knew  it.  Yet  one  thing  was  lacking.  He  wanted  the 
tribute  of  others,  of  the  old  associates  who  had  given  him 
up  in  despair,  written  him  off  the  ledger  of  life.  At 
times,  thinking  of  how  they  would  stare  and  stand  amazed 
before  this  triumphant  renaissance,  he  felt  restless  im 
pulses  to  go  rushing  back,  a  need  of  the  sensations  of 
happiness  and  triumph  in  every  form,  a  boyish  craving 
for  applause.  Inga  read  these  signs  only  too  clearly,  and 
as  the  thought  of  return  was  to  her  a  dread  one,  woman 
like  she  went  ahead  to  meet  the  inevitable. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Dan,  when  are  you  going  back  ?  "  she  said, 
one  night,  when  she  had  watched  him  in  long  reverie. 

"  How  do  you  know  we're  going  back  ?  "  he  said,  sur 
prised. 

"  It  is  time,"  she  said  seriously. 

"  Really  ?  "  He  looked  at  her  curiously,  comprehended 
what  lay  in  her  mind,  and  said,  with  an  accusing  smile : 
"  I'm  afraid  I'm  still  mostly  a  boy,  I  want  to  be  patted 
on  the  back  for  what  I've  done." 

"  That's  only  right,"  she  said  quietly.  "  It  is  what  you 
need,  too.  When  shall  we  go?" 

"  Say  next  week." 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  Sooner." 

"  Day  after  to-morrow?  " 

"  To-morrow,"  she  said,  with  a  firm  little  bob  of  her 
head.  "  When  things  must  be  done,  it's  better  to  have 
them  over." 

He  felt  a  leap  within  him  at  the  thought  of  the  great 
city  which  was  his  again.  Then  he  looked  at  her  and 
laid  his  hands  on  her  shoulders. 

"  We  will  come  back  —  next  summer,"  he  said,  smil 
ing. 

She  smiled  back  at  him,  meeting  his  eyes  steadily. 


XLII 

THEY  did  not  return  immediately  to  New  York.  Half 
way,  an  unaccountable  timidity  seized  him  —  the  shrink 
ing  of  a  schoolboy  before  entering  a  public  assemblage  — 
and  with  a  sudden  impulse  they  turned  back  for  a  week 
of  Indian  summer  in  the  bungalow  by  the  lake  where  they 
had  gone  first.  He  himself  did  not  in  the  least  compre 
hend  the  motives  which  had  made  him  suddenly  delay 
the  test  of  the  return  to  the  old  life.  Sometimes  he 
thought  it  was  a  lack  of  confidence,  a  fear  of  having  lived 
in  illusions,  that  would  dissipate  before  the  rude  shock 
of  reality.  At  other  times  it  seemed  to  him  a  clinging 
to  the  world  of  solitude  in  which  he  had  found  his  happi 
ness,  in  distrust  of  what  compensation  lay  ahead.  So 
deep  was  this  indecision  of  the  soul  that  their  days  were 
spent  in  aimless  pleasure.  His  easel  remained  unpacked. 
No  desire  for  work  came  to  him.  Now  and  then,  he  felt 
an  irresistible  longing  to  plunge  back  into  the  world  of 
men,  and  again,  a  revolt  against  himself  —  a  restless 
shrinking-back,  a  longing  to  return  deeper  into  the  un 
questioning  loyalty  of  the  great  world  of  forests  and  still 
ranges.  At  such  times,  he  would  gaze  for  long  spaces  at 
Inga,  filling  his  eyes  with  the  healing  vision  of  her  youth 
and  charm  —  wondering. 

"Why  do  you  stay?"  she  asked  him,  one  evening, 
when  they  had  sat  silently,  looking  across  at  Catamount, 
blue  and  luminous  under  the  scattering  sunset  clouds 
which  swam  like  radiant  goldfish  above  its  sharp  outline. 

"  I    wonder."     After   a   moment   he   said,    a   certain 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  391 

gentleness  in  his  voice  which  seemed  attuned  to  the  gen 
tleness  in  the  skies,  "  I  think  it's  because  it's  the  ending 
of  a  phase.  I  want  the  other  —  the  big  things  —  and  yet 
I  want  to  hold  on  to  this,  to  what  this  has  been  to  us,  a 
little  longer  and  still  a  little  longer.  Do  you  under 
stand?" 

She  nodded,  and  her  fingers  turned  gently  in  his  fingers. 

"  This  is  personal,"  he  said  slowly,  "  the  other  will  be 
different.  It  will  be  a  sort  of  renunciation  of  many 
things.  This  is  the  romance,  the  great  romance  of  my 
life,  and,  well,  I  want  it  to  go  on  a  little  longer." 

Her  head  went  slowly  down  to  his  shoulder;  he  drew 
his  arm  about  her. 

"  It  is  unbelievable,  providential  —  and  it  is  all  you," 
he  said  reverentially.  "  You  are  as  strange  to  me,  Inga, 
as  the  first  day.  I  do  not  know  you  — -  no,  not  at  all. 
Yet,  in  what  you  have  made  me  feel  and  in  w7hat  you 
have  made  me  suffer  too,  you  have  done  everything." 

A  certain  charm  of  the  twilight,  of  the  quiet  spot,  and 
of  the  youthful  ecstasy  he  had  known  momentarily  swept 
aside  the  man  that  had  been  built  up  victoriously  and 
logically.  For  the  instant  he  was  in  love  with  love  with 
out  reason  or  reserve  with  the  memory  of  other  moments 
felt  in  the  passionate  moods  of  the  fading  day  and  the 
poignant  floods  of  moonlight. 

"  Shall  we  never  go  back,  Inga?  "  he  said  breathlessly. 
"  Shall  we  stay  here  all  winter,  just  you  and  I  ?  " 

In  his  arms  he  felt  her  tremble  and  then  fill  with  a  great 
sigh. 

"  Oh,  I'm  so  glad  you  said  that ! "  she  cried  abruptlyy 
and  for  a  moment  something  shook  in  her  voice. 

"  Shall  we  stay?  "  he  said  eagerly,  confused  by  throng 
ing  sensations,  even  as  the  earth  and  the  sky  grew  con 
fused  in  the  fall  of  the  night. 

She  laughed,  lightly  and  happily  from  the  heart,  and 


392  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

though  she  was  not  deceived  by  the  intoxication  of  the 
moment,  she  yielded  with  every  sense. 

The  next  morning  she  was  an  inconscient  child,  with 
out  a  brooding  thought,  romping  about  the  bungalow, 
doing  a  dozen  crazy  things,  singing  and  laughing  until 
her  mood  caught  him  in  its  playfulness.  For  the  day 
they  were  as  foolishly  happy  as  a  pair  of  growing  pup 
pies,  playing  a  dozen  tricks  on  each  other,  laughing  for 
the  pure  joy  of  being  together,  pursuing  or  pursued. 

"  Upon  my  soul,  Inga,  I  believe  you  are  actually  flirt 
ing  with  me !  "  he  cried,  from  across  the  table. 

She  eluded  his  sudden  grasp  and  went  scurrying  out  of 
doors  and  up  into  the  sheltering  branches  of  a  broken 
pine.  He  stood  at  the  foot  laughing,  one  hand  on  her 
ankle  which  he  had  caught  just  as  she  was  hurrying  out 
of  reach.  Thus  arrested,  she  turned  and  settled  herself 
on  the  swaying  branch. 

"  Actually  flirting  with  me,"  he  said  sternly. 

She  shook  her  head  indignantly,  her  eyes  sparkling. 

"  What  is  the  meaning  of  this,  I'd  like  to  know  ?  "  he 
continued,  scowling. 

"Would  you,  Mr.  Dan?"  she  said,  with  her  head  on 
one  side,  her  lips  tantalizingly  set. 

"  I  certainly  do !     Why  are  you  so  happy,  all  at  once?  " 

"  Because,"  she  cried,  "  because  I  want  to  crowd  a 
whole  lifetime  into  a  day!  Look  out!  " 

Before  he  could  reply,  she  had  sprung  down  into  his 
arms,  almost  upsetting  him  with  the  shock  of  her  descent. 
She  lay  her  face  close  to  his,  panting  and  flushed. 

"  Because  I  want  to  be  happy  for  a  whole  lifetime!  " 
she  said  and  flung  her  arms  about  him.  The  next  mo 
ment,  she  had  slipped  from  him  and  taken  refuge  along 
the  shore,  leaping  lightly  from  rock  to  rock. 

A  little  later,  as  he  waited  her  return,  she  came  back 
quite  sober  and  demure. 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  393 

"  When  you  make  up  your  mind  to  go,"  she  said,  look 
ing  at  him  intently,  "  do  it  quite  suddenly,  and  don't  — 
don't  tell  me  until  just  before  —  just  a  few  hours  before." 

His  mood,  too,  had  turned  to  seriousness.  He  drew 
her  to  a  seat  beside  him. 

"  It's  queer  how  your  mind  changes,"  he  said  earnestly. 
"  I  thought,  once,  I  wanted  to  shake  the  dust  of  the  city 
forever  —  run  off,  be  a  hermit  up  in  the  top  of  a  moun 
tain,  on  an  island.  I  hated  men  and  their  ways,  their 
jealousies,  and  their  estimates  —  and,  now,  I  feel  as 
though  I'd  like  to  go  back,  astound  them  just  for  once, 
and  then  come  back  here  forever."  He  stopped,  looked 
at  her,  and  saw  the  smile  on  her  lips.  "  What's  that 
mean  —  you  don't  believe  me  ?  " 

"  I  believe  all  but  the  last." 

"  Well,  that's  the  way  I  feel  now,"  he  admitted.  "  I 
suppose  I  should  stay  away.  It's  only  vanity." 

"  No ;  you  want  to  feel  your  strength,"  she  said  slowly. 
"  What  you  get  from  others  will  give  you  confidence." 

"  Yes ;  I  suppose  I'm  like  the  rest,"  he  said  frankly. 
"  There  is  something  cruel  about  it.  I  want  to  go  back 
and  feel  how  I've  gone  ahead  of  the  others  —  even  my 
friends,  my  best  friends.  It's  something  savage,  almost 
as  though  you  flung  them  down  bodily  and  climbed  over 
them.  And  they'll  feel  that,  too,  no  matter  how  much 
they  praise  what  I've  done  —  at  the  bottom  in  their  secret 
hearts  it'll  hurt.  Wonder  why  it  must  be  so !  " 

"I  don't  know,"  she  said  thoughtfully;  "if  you  feel 
that  way,  it's  because  you  need  just  that  feeling,  I  sup 
pose." 

He  hesitated,  rather  surprised  at  her  understanding  be 
fore  he  went  on. 

"  I  know  it's  trivial,  guess  the  big  ones  are  beyond  that 
—  if  they  are;  and  yet — "  He  brought  his  hands  to 
gether  in  an  eager  clasp  over  his  knee,  and  his  face  lit  up. 


394  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

"  And  yet  it  would  be  something  to  go  back  and  feel  how 
you've  astonished  them  all,  to  make  good,  to  have  every 
one  talking  about  you  again  —  the  feeling  of  the  foot 
lights.  If  you've  once  known  that,  it's  hard  to  get  away 
from  it."  He  smiled  at  himself.  "  What  an  ass  I  am ! 
Do  you  think  I'm  hopelessly  ridiculous?"  She  was 
standing,  her  back  to  a  tree.  As  he  looked  up  guiltily, 
she  was  smiling  down  at  him,  with  a  proprietary,  ma 
ternal  pride.  "  Inga,"  he  said  grinning,  "  sometimes 
you  remind  me  of  a  mother  cat,  purring  away  con 
tentedly  and  watching  her  favorite  kitten  tumbling  about 
the  rug." 

She  burst  out  laughing. 

"Perhaps!" 

He  took  her  hand  and  said  abruptly: 

"  And  you  —  do  you  want  to  go  back  ?  " 

"  I  want  what  you  need,  Mr.  Dan,"  she  said,  looking 
at  him  steadily. 

"  Will  you  be  proud  of  me,  Inga,  when  we  have  an 
exhibition  all  our  own?  " 

11  I'm  proud  now " 

"  But  won't  you  be  prouder  when  the  crowds  come  and 
you  feel  what  you've  done  ?  " 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  No ;  not  more  than  I  am  now." 

"  I  don't  see  why  you  say  that,"  he  said,  perplexed  and 
frowning. 

"  I  shan't  like  to  share  you  with  crowds,"  she  said 
abruptly,  and  then,  as  though  she  were  afraid  to  have 
shown  too  much  feeling,  she  said  hastily,  "  Mr.  Dan, 
don't  think  of  exhibiting  too  soon." 

"Why,  Inga?" 

She  studied  him  carefully,  as  though  calculating  in 
him  all  his  capacity  of  suffering  and  all  his  need  of 
praise. 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  395 

"  You're  too  sensitive  —  you'll  be  changed  too  easily 
by  what  people  tell  you." 

"  You  mean,  criticism  will  hurt  me?" 

"No,  no;  their  praise." 

"  Flattery." 

"Yes." 

"So  you  think  I'll  give  in  to  flattery,  do  you?"  he 
said,  with  the  exaggerated  grufTness  he  used  when  he 
pretended  to  be  angry. 

She  nodded  without  yielding  an  inch. 

"Yes;  it  means  so  much  to  you  —  oh,  I'm  serious. 
There  are  so  many  things,  new  ideas  in  you.  Work 
them  out  yourself ;  don't  let  any  one  else  know  what  you're 
thinking  —  not  even  me  —  until  you  get  where  you 


li=> 

want." 


"  What  a  wise  head !  "  he  said,  smiling. 

"I'm  right;  I  know  I'm  right." 

"  Yes,  you  are,"  he  said  solemnly.  "  I  don't  know  how 
you  guess  my  failings,  but  you  guess  them  remarkably 
well.  All  right;  I'll  appoint  you  my  guardian,  and  I'll 
promise  to  obey." 

"  Then  don't  show  your  sketches  to  any  one  —  oh, 
Tootles  and  King,  if  you  want,  but  not  to  the  others  — 
the  ones  you  want  to  —  to  throw  down  and  climb  over." 

"  Why,  I  believe  you're  just  as  savage  as  I  am !  "  he 
said,  laughing  at  her  conclusion. 

"  I  am ;  I  am ! "  she  cried,  in  high  excitement,  and  the 
point  lay  settled.  She  was  back  in  her  mood  of  riotous 
gaiety. 

For  the  rest  of  the  day  he  watched  her,  puzzled  and 
fascinated,  drawn  to  her  by  all  his  senses,  finding  her  a 
hundred  times  more  tantalizing,  perplexing,  and  desir 
able  than  ever  before,  astounded  at  the  whirl  of  spirits 
into  which  she  drove  without  a  pause.  The  next  day, 
while  he  was  still  waiting  what  mood  would  dominate 


396  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

her,  she  announced  abruptly  that  the  time  had  come  to 
depart.     Then  he  understood. 

It  was  far  into  November  when  they  returned  to  the 
Arcade,  and  the  city  was  the  city  of  the  approaching  win 
ter,  vibrant,  stirring,  and  electric.  He  felt  a  new  eager 
ness  of  the  imagination,  a  confidence  buoyed  up  on  waves 
of  energy  that  seemed  to  urge  him  joyfully  back  into  the 
arena  of  conflict. 

When  they  had  taken  a  taxi  and  were  caught  in  the 
full  crush  of  thronged  avenues,  he  drew  forward  on  his 
seat,  leaning  eagerly  toward  the  window.  The  city  was 
there,  waiting  for  him,  with  its  variegated  flashes  of  life, 
its  movements  of  skyscrapers  and  clouds,  its  streaming 
multitudes  and,  in  the  shifting  current,  faces,  fragments 
of  human  light  and  shade.  These  scattered  details, 
which  once  had  been  meaningless  and  confusion  on  con 
fusion,  had  a  new  significance,  brought  together  and  made 
comprehensible  by  deep,  underlying  impulses,  moving  and 
massed  according  to  the  same  immutable  laws,  that  flung 
giant  rocks,  inscrutable  and  calm  amid  the  shifting  sea 
sons  that  overran  them  only  to  die  away.  In  this  opposi 
tion  of  fashioned  cliffs  and  drifting  tides  of  men  he  felt  a 
kinship  with  the  sea-swept  reaches  he  had  known,  a  unity 
in  significance  which  surprised  him,  where  he  had  ex 
pected  disillusionment,  and,  drinking  in  greedily  thus  the 
richness  of  the  thronged  world  which  called  to  him,  he 
realized,  with  a  sudden  joy,  that  his  true  work  lay  ahead 
of  him. 

Inga,  by  his  side,  sat  like  a  statue  of  contemplation. 
In  her,  a  profound  transformation  was  taking  place. 
From  the  moment  when,  far-off,  she  had  divined  the  ap 
proach  of  the  metropolis,  by  its  far-flung,  hideous  strag 
glers,  until  the  moment  when  they  had  burst  into  the 
sudden  upleap  of  serried  life,  crowded  windows,  flight  on 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  397 

flight  in  mute  straining  toward  the  freedom  of  the  upper 
air,  something  had  closed  about  her,  a  rigidity  of  the 
soul,  and  from  her  eyes  something  childlike  and  incon- 
scient  had  fled  away.  She  continued  to  stare  ahead 
calmly  and  without  flinching,  but  the  look  on  her  clear 
forehead  was  brooding  and  prophetic. 

They  had  hardly  drawn  up  at  the  Arcade  amid  a  gath 
ering  of  small  urchins,  when  a  great  limousine  came 
superbly  up  and  a  familiar  voice  cried  in  great  excite 
ment: 

"  Inga !     Inga ! " 

The  next  moment,  the  Myrtle  Popper,  which  had  been, 
came  flying  rapturously  toward  them,  in  the  figure  of  a 
stylishly  dressed  woman  in  half  mourning.  From  the 
limousine,  more  slowly,  King  O'Leary  descended,  some 
what  embarrassed  at  being  thus  surprised. 

"  Mr.  Dangerfield,  how  well  you  look !  Inga,  how 
pretty  you've  grown!"  cried  Myrtle,  embracing  her. 
"  My,  what  a  surprise ;  we  thought  you  never  was  com 
ing  !  The  boys'll  be  tickled  to  death.  You  must  all  dine 
with  me  to-night  —  sure  you  must !  It'd  just  break  my 
heart  if  you  didn't.  We'll  have  some  party !  " 

O'Leary  shook  hands,  a  little  red  under  the  sharp, 
amused  look  Inga  gave  them  and,  after  a  promise  to 
allow  themselves  to  be  feted  by  Myrtle,  they  went  in  to 
Sassafras,  whose  white  eyes  rolled  so  rapidly  in  astonish 
ment  that  they  threatened  to  fly  loose.  The  elevator  was 
as  dusky  as  ever,  jolting  and  balking  on  its  resentful  way 
up.  The  corridors  were  vast  - —  ill  lighted  and  creaking 
under  their  tread,  but  at  the  door  where  the  studio  of  the 
Three  Arts  had  been,  they  stopped  aghast  before  a  strange 
sign  which  announced, 

MCTWEEDER   AND   FLAHERTY 

CANADIAN-AMERICAN  BUSTER  PIE  Co. 
BUSINESS  OFFICE. 


398  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

Myrtle,  laughing,  explained  that  the  ruse  was  for  de 
fensive  purposes  only  around  the  first  of  the  month,  and 
at  the  noise  they  made,  Tootles  and  Flick  came  bounding 
out.  In  another  five  minutes  they  were  the  center  of  an 
excited  gathering  —  Miss  Quirley  all  aquiver;  Belle 
Shaler ;  Millie  Brewster,  a  little  drawn  and  nervous ;  "  the 
baron,"  who  seemed  strangely  feeble  and  old,  even  to 
Schneibel,  who  came  plunging  in,  crying  volubly  to  see  the 
masterpieces  of  the  summer  —  at  once  —  while  a  patient 
waited  below  in  the  torture-chair.  One  look  at  Danger- 
field  told  them  the  story  of  the  summer.  O'Leary  shook 
hands  with  Inga,  blurting  out: 

"  Well,  you've  done  it  —  say,  my  hat's  off  to  you !  " 

And  a  little  later,  "  the  baron,"  profiting  by  a  moment's 
isolation,  leaned  over  and  patted  her  arm,  saying  with  his 
courtly  smile : 

"  You  wonderful  child  —  when  you  are  in  heaven  will 
you  ask  the  bon  Dieu  to  squeeze  me  through  —  a  little?  " 


XLIII 

MONTHS  of  even  tenor  succeeded,  of  unremitting  in 
dustry,  when  nothing  else  seemed  comprehensible  to  Dan- 
gerfield  but  the  rage  of  work.  So  absorbed  was  he  by 
the  richness  of  the  vision  which  opened  before  him  in  the 
exploration  of  the  city,  that  even  at  nights  in  the  hun 
dred  and  one  restaurants  through  which  they  flitted  — 
beer  garden,  water-front  quick  lunch,  oyster-parlor  or 
cafe  in  upper  Italy  —  his  eyes  were  always  eager  and  his 
pencil  busy.  Of  that  narrow  carpet  from  Twenty-third 
Street  to  the  Park  which  is  called  New  York,  they  saw 
nothing.  They  had  plunged  back  into  the  healing  flood 
of  humanity  that  swirls  and  eddies  along  its  upward  striv 
ing  voyage  beyond  the  social  boundaries  of  the  elevated, 
feeling  the  sincerity  of  its  joy  and  sorrows,  noting  its 
sane  and  colorful  vulgarity,  relishing  its  vitality,  its  ca 
pacity  for  progress,  and  its  God-given  will  to  enjoy  and 
to  enthuse. 

For  these  months  of  intimacy  with  the  simple  and  di 
rect  life  of  the  massed  nations  of  the  cosmopolis,  Dan- 
gerfield  lived  and  worked  in  unconscious  fervor.  No 
weakening  pause  at  self-analysis,  no  intimidating  calcu 
lation  of  what  foreign  criticism  might  declare  ever  en 
tered  his  day.  He  experienced  the  greatest  delight  of 
which  an  artist  is  capable,  a  joy  which  is  like  first  love 
and  must  be  surrendered  with  the  consciousness  of  suc 
cess  —  the  pure  and  unreasoning  love  of  the  work  itself. 
He  had  followed  Inga's  intuition  and  resisted  the  im 
pulse  in  him  to  try  the  effect  of  what  he  had  done  on  those 
whose  admiration  would  have  been  precious  to  him.  He 


400  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

renounced  this  temptation  of  the  vanity  the  more  easily 
in  that  he  perceived,  to  his  own  surprise,  that  the  summer 
had  been  but  preparatory  to  the  big  things  before  him. 

Meanwhile,  many  things  had  happened  in  the  Arcade. 
About  six  weeks  after  Dangerfield's  return,  to  the  amaze 
ment  of  every  one,  Drinkwater  and  Pansy  reappeared. 
That  he  had  married  her,  contrary  to  the  fears  of  Belle 
Shaler,  was  fortunately  true,  though,  beyond  that  mere 
announcement,  the  girl  had  nothing  to  say,  maintaining 
an  obstinate  silence  to  all  questions.  They  took  an  apart 
ment  in  the  building  next  door  which  was  reached  by  a 
bridge  from  the  lower  floor,  though  Drinkwater  still 
maintained  his  old  room  in  the  form  of  an  office.  That 
he  held  a  strong  fascination  over  his  wife  was  apparent, 
for  though  she  was  much  changed  and  quite  tamed,  no 
word  of  complaint  or  criticism  passed  her  lips.  The  only 
evidence  of  unhappiness,  if  any  did  exist,  might  perhaps 
have  been  noticed  in  the  assiduity  of  her  attendance  on 
Mr.  Cornelius  and  the  thousand  and  one  attentions  with 
which  she  surrounded  him.  "  The  baron,"  who  had  been 
broken  in  health  for  some  time,  seemed  to  cling  to  this 
affection,  though  he  would  never  reconcile  himself  to  re 
ceiving  the  husband. 

Tootles,  who  was  of  a  dramatic  temperament,  had 
braced  himself  heroically  to  withstand  the  tragedy  of  his 
life.  For  several  days  his  appetite  noticeably  diminished, 
but  the  recovery  was  rapid  and  visibly  abetted  by  the 
providential  meeting  with  a  blonde  student  at  the  art 
school,  who  engaged  his  affections  instantly  and  tyran 
nized  over  him  as  successfully  as  the  brunette  of  the  past. 
The  windfall  which  had  come  to  him  from  "  The  Apothe 
osis  of  the  Well-dressed  Man  "  had  departed  in  the  fash 
ion  of  all  winds,  in  an  attempt  to  rival  the  careers  of  sud 
den  millionaires,  who  are  believed  to  soar  from  such 
humble  foundations.  One-third  had  gone  in  gilt-edged 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  401 

mining  stocks  from  a  sleek  and  confidential  promoter 
whom  Flick  had  annexed  down  South;  another  slice  had 
been  sacrificed  to  acquire  fifty-one  per  cent,  of  the  stock 
of  a  combination  corkscrew  and  coat-hanger  to  be  called 
the  Corkaroo,  which  had  been  sacrificed  to  them  by  an 
inventor  in  distress,  while  the  last  hundred  dollars  had 
been  placed  in  desperation  on  a  ten-to-one  shot,  about 
which  a  friend  of  a  friend  of  Flick's  had  private  infor 
mation. 

Meanwhile,  the  Arcade  was  watching  with  undimin- 
ishing  interest  the  comedy  which  was  transpiring  daily 
and  which  had  as  its  principal  actors  Mrs.  Pomello,  King 
O'Leary,  and  Millie  Brewster.  That  Myrtle  had  come 
back  determined  to  carry  off  King  O'Leary  was  evident 
to  all.  In  fact,  in  the  frankness  of  her  nature,  she  made 
no  disguise  of  her  intention.  By  one  of  the  caprices  of 
fortune,  which  the  fickle  goddess  delights  in  showering 
over  the  metropolis,  the  dashing  girl,  whisked  from  a 
manicure-parlor  to  sudden  opulence  as  though  on  some 
miraculous  wishing-carpet  of  the  "  Arabian  nights," 
found  herself  a  widow  within  a  short  three  months  and 
sole  heiress  to  a  property  which  developed  beyond  her 
expectations. 

Mr.  Pomello  had  died  suddenly  at  Nice,  where  in  an 
indulgent  cosmopolitan  society,  appraising  by  the  eyes, 
they  had  found  easy  acquaintance.  Myrtle  as  a  young 
widow,  heiress  to  fifteen  thousand  a  year,  undeniably 
stunning  if  inclined  to  liberties  with  the  King's  English, 
found  a  number  of  sufficiently  titled  adventurers  ready  to 
assist  her  upward  progress  into  society.  Before  she  left, 
she  had  the  exquisite  sensation  of  actually  refusing  to  be 
a  countess  —  an  internal  satisfaction  which  Providence 
accorded  her  as  a  reward  for  constancy. 

But,  in  the  directness  of  her  nature,  she  cared  little  for 
these  infirm  personalities.  She  remembered  the  man 


402  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

who  had  stirred  her  from  the  first  impudent  kiss,  and, 
after  a  certain  period  of  retirement  in  memory  of  the 
strange,  gentle  old  man  who  had  transformed  her  horizon, 
she  came  back  to  America  and  established  herself  in  a 
resplendent  suite  at  a  neighboring  hotel.  Prosperity  had 
as  yet  worked  no  arrogance  in  the  naturalness  of  her  na 
ture,  and  though  her  former  friends  instinctively  drew 
back  in  defensive  attitudes  at  the  spectacle  of  the  limou 
sine,  the  liveried  chauffeur,  the  exquisite  costumes  of  half 
mourning  and  the  large  and  brilliant  jewelry,  they  soon 
relaxed  their  suspicions  before  the  unaffected  generosity 
and  gay  moods  of  the  ex-manicure-girl.  The  one  excep 
tion  was,  of  course,  Millie  Brewster,  whose  weakness  for 
King  O'Leary  had  long  been  evident.  The  gorgeous  ar 
rival  of  Mrs.  Pomello  reduced  Millie  to  a  state  of  melan 
cholic  desperation,  which  even  drove  her  to  the  extent 
of  half  confidence  in  Tootles,  who,  having  had  his  heart 
exploded  a  number  of  times,  felt  qualified  for  the  role  of 
a  sympathetic  consoler. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  neither  Flick  nor  Tootles  were  in 
the  least  doubt  that  Myrtle  had  made  up  her  mind  to  carry 
off  O'Leary  with  a  high  hand  and  marry  him,  after  the 
easy  matter  of  a  divorce  had  been  settled,  nor  for  that 
matter  had  Millie  Brewster,  who  daily  grew  more  silent 
and  more  pathetic,  flitting  into  the  studio  at  all  hours  for 
a  glimpse  of  her  idol  or  at  least  the  opportunity  to  con 
verse  about  him.  What  O'Leary  himself  was  thinking 
remained  the  mystery,  nor  could  his  comrades  in  the  arts, 
either  by  sly  traps  or  direct  accusations,  procure  a  clue. 
In  truth,  O'Leary  himself  was  as  thoroughly  perplexed 
as  the  next  man.  He  was  human,  and  he  deeply  relished 
the  public  role  he  had  suddenly  found  himself  thrown 
into,  by  the  battle  for  his  possession  between  the  two 
charmers,  either  of  whom  enchanted  when  the  other  was 
away. 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  403 

Now,  it  happened  that  Tootles,  though  the  sentimental 
adviser  of  Millie,  was  convinced  of  the  hopelessness  of 
the  odds  against  which  she  struggled,  while  Flick  insisted 
that  Myrtle  was  riding  to  a  disaster,  and  for  this  he  had 
shrewd  reasons  of  his  own. 

"  She's  making  mistakes,"  he  said  wisely,  on  one  of 
the  many  occasions  when  he  discussed  the  absorbing  sub 
ject  with  Tootles.  "  Some  girl,  some  action,  fine  eyes 
and  all  that,  but  she's  on  the  wrong  track !  I  could  put 
her  wise,  but  I  won't." 

"What  mistakes?"  said  Tootles. 

"  Introducing  society  and  King  to  each  other.  You 
can't  tame  King  —  he'll  kick  over  the  traces  some  day  — 
then  good-by." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know.  He  doesn't  show  any  signs  yet. 
He's  driving  out,  lunching  out,  theaters  and  all  that  sort 
of  stuff.  I  do  believe  she's  even  gotten  him  worked  up 
to  taking  tea.  Do  you  mean  to  say  that's  not  serious?  " 

"  Serious  for  her — she's  rushing  the  game,"  said 
Flick  obstinately.  "  Mark  my  words,  she'll  go  too  far ! 
She'll  start  dressing  him  up." 

"  He  had  on  a  new  tie  yesterday,"  said  Tootles  sud 
denly. 

"  Sure  he  did.  She'll  try  to  make  a  dude  out  of  him 
—  see  if  she  don't;  and  one  thing  O'Leary  isn't,  and 
that's  a  Charlie  boy.  I  tell  you  he  won't  stand  for  it. 
He'll  go  cold  all  of  a  sudden." 

"  My  word,"  said  Tootles  doubtfully,  "  it  is  a  chance 
though!  Remember  the  solid-cash  basis.  That  does 
count  for  something,  Literature." 

"  With  you  or  me,  Art,"  said  Flick  crushingly.  "  I 
am  quite  ready  to  console  the  lady  and  so  would  you  be. 
I'm  wild,  but  I'm  not  a  wild  Indian  like  O'Leary.  If 
Myrtle  was  wise,  instead  of  blowing  in  on  a  circus-wagon 
with  diamond  attachments,  she'd  hang  around  here  in  a 


404  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

sweater  and  a  sunbonnet,  and  do  the  joy-riding  on  a  sur 
face-car.  O'Leary  will  never  stand  for  the  fancy  stuff, 
never  in  the  world !  " 

Even  as  they  were  thus  debating,  King  O'Leary  came 
into  the  studio.  Under  one  arm  he  carried  a  couple  of 
packages,  while  in  the  other  hand  hung  what  was  unmis 
takably  a  hat-box. 

"  Hello !  "  said  O'Leary,  with  brazen  effrontery,  and, 
whistling,  he  moved  over  to  the  corner  which  had  been 
specially  allotted  to  him  as  his  private  dressing-room. 

"  Hello !  "  said  Flick,  who  stared  first  at  the  hat-box 
and  then  at  Tootles. 

O'Leary  continued  to  whistle  loudly,  removing  his  coat 
and  vest  while  he  undid  the  first  of  the  packages.  Too 
tles,  in  his  amazement,  reached  out  his  hand  and  clung  to 
Flick's.  From  the  package,  O'Leary  drew  forth  a  pink- 
and-white  shirt  with  cuffs  attached,  and  slowly  and  delib 
erately,  without  abating  his  nonchalant  whistling,  strug 
gled  into  it. 

"If  he  puts  on  a  collar,  you  lose,"  said  Tootles  to 
Flick,  who  was  too  completely  flabbergasted  to  retort. 
Even  as  the  words  were  spoken,  King  O'Leary  produced 
a  standing  collar  and  attached  it  to  the  shirt  with  the 
clumsiness  of  a  first  effort.  Flick  and  Tootles  went  over 
backward  still  holding  hands  and,  thus  supinely  on  their 
back,  their  feet  in  the  air,  continued  to  stare  at  the  ap 
parition. 

King  O'Leary,  having  surveyed  the  effect  of  the  white 
badge  of  servitude  in  the  mirror,  flung  into  his  vest  and 
coat  and  ripping  off  the  cover  of  the  box  produced  a 
derby  which  he  adjusted  with  nicety  on  his  head,  giving 
it  a  rakish  tilt.  Then  he  produced  a  pair  of  gloves,  shook 
them  carefully  in  the  air,  raised  his  arms,  yawned,  and 
departed  whistling.  Tootles  looked  at  Flick ;  Flick  looked 
at  Tootles. 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  405 

"  Poor  Millie !  "  said  Tootles,  still  on  his  back.  "  Are 
you  convinced  now  ?  " 

"  I  am,"  said  Flick.  "  I  give  up.  I  know  nothing 
about  human  nature." 

For  three  days,  King  O'Leary  vouchsafed  no  explana 
tion.  He  rose,  clamped  into  stiff  shirt  and  stiff  collar, 
crushed  down  over  his  free  brow  the  unspeakable  derby 
hat,  and  departed  into  society.  Flick  and  Tootles  ar 
ranged  the  old  flannel  shirt,  flowing  tie,  and  venerable 
sombrero  upon  a  roughly  constructed  wooden  cross  in 
the  corner  and  placed  upon  it  the  following  inscription : 

SACRED  TO  THE  MEMORY 

OF 

KING  O'LEARY 
Requiscat  in  Pace 

But  on  the  evening  of  the  third  day,  while  they  were 
sitting  glumly  in  the  easiest  chairs,  reflecting  upon  the 
frailties  of  human  nature,  shortly  after  ten  o'clock  the 
door  opened  and  King  O'Leary  came  in.  While  they 
gazed  upon  him  in  amazement,  with  the  utmost  solemnity 
he  placed  the  derby  hat  in  the  center  of  the  floor,  added 
the  stiff  collar,  and,  going  to  the  corner,  took  from  the 
commemorative  cross  the  loose  shirt,  his  old  friend,  the 
sombrero,  and  the  limp  tie.  In  another  moment,  he 
stood  before  them  the  King  O'Leary  of  old. 

"  What  about  the  plug  hat?  "  said  Flick  faintly. 

O'Leary's  answer  was  to  advance  with  deliberation 
and  to  plant  one  foot  firmly  upon  the  degrading  object 
of  social  servitude.  The  next  moment  there  was  a 
slight  report  and  beneath  his  foot  nothing  but  a  crumpled 
mass.  So  ended  the  romance. 

The  next  week,  Mrs.  Pomello  sailed  for  Europe.  Of 
what  had  taken  place  between  them,  O'Leary  never 
dropped  a  hint.  Perhaps  it  wasn't  necessary.  The 


4o6  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

badges  of  servitude  which  had  failed  to  imprison 
O'Leary's  rebellious  spirit  were  appropriately  preserved 
as  mementoes  of  the  past.  Millie  Brewster  used  to  dust 
them  off  with  a  certain  quiet  satisfaction  on  the  days  in 
which  she  continued  to  clean  up  the  room. 

During  these  long  and  fruitful  months,  perhaps  due  to 
their  loyalty  to  the  unaccustomed  haunts  of  the  city,  Inga 
and  Dangerfield  had  failed  so  far  to  meet  a  single  ac 
quaintance  of  his  old  life. 

All  at  once,  this  unconscious  isolation  was  rudely  inter 
rupted.  They  were  returning  from  a  visit  to  a  Yiddish 
theater,  in  the  heart  of  the  East  Side,  when  the  whim 
seized  Dangerfield,  who  was  an  inveterate  night-owl,  to 
turn  aside  for  a  last  pleasant  hour  in  one  of  the  least 
popular  restaurants  of  lower  Second  Avenue,  the  show- 
place  of  the  exploited  East  Side. 

They  had  hardly  installed  themselves  at  a  quiet  table 
before  Dangerfield,  looking  across  the  room,  was  aware 
of  a  group  of  three  men  absorbed  in  his  contemplation. 
He  recognized  Lupkin,  the  great  Russian  basso,  and 
Fallen,  the  author,  both  old  acquaintances,  and  De  Goll- 
yer,  the  critic,  of  all  the  friends  of  the  past  perhaps  the 
closest  to  his  confidence.  He  bowed  abruptly  with  a  cer 
tain  confused  shyness  which  was  beyond  his  control  and, 
seeing  their  hesitation  before  Inga's  presence,  gave  a 
little  sign  of  invitation.  The  next  moment  De  Gollyer 
crossed  over  and  had  him  by  the  hand.  He  was  a  little 
man,  of  the  world  to  the  finger-tips,  -flaneur  and  connois 
seur  of  all  that  life  yields  of  the  curious,  dramatic,  and 
hidden.  Their  friendship  had  been  of  boyhood  origin,  of 
the  strength  that  never  weakens. 

"  My  dear  boy,"  he  exclaimed,  still  gripping  the  hand 
that  Dangerfield  had  extended  him,  "  is  it  you  or  your 
ghost?  I  thought  —  we  thought  — " 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  407 

"  You  thought,"  said  Dangerfield  interrupting,  "  that 
I  had  gone  off  into  some  corner  to  pass  away  like  a  sick 
dog.  Well,  here  I  am." 

De  Gollyer  was  looking  into  his  eyes,  at  the  strength 
and  the  health  in  his  face,  estimating  the  confident  ring 
in  the  tones  of  his  voice,  the  new  energy  that  seemed  to 
fall  from  him  as  from  invisible  electric  batteries.  Then, 
from  his  friend,  he  looked  swiftly  at  the  woman  at  his 
side,  seeking  the  explanation. 

"  My  wife,"  said  Dangerfield,  who  knew  him  too  well 
not  to  comprehend  instinctively  the  progress  of  his 
thoughts.  "And  —  you  are  quite  right." 

"  My  dear  lady,"  said  De  Gollyer,  staring  at  her  a  lit 
tle  too  insistently,  "  I  have  only  been  completely  as 
tounded  twice  before  in  my  life.  This  is  the  third  time. 
Will  you  allow  me  to  sit  down  and  recover  myself?  " 

"  You  look  astounded,"  said  Dangerfield,  laughing. 

"  My  dear  boy,  I  never  saw  anything  so  amazing  in  my 
life.  But  you  look  younger  and  more  beautiful  than  I 
do.  Where  have  you  been  ?  What  have  you  been  doing  ? 
Why  didn't  you  let  me  know  ?  By  Jove,  Dan,  I  am  glad 
to  see  you  like  this !  " 

The  exclamation  burst  forth  so  impulsively  that  Inga, 
who  had  retired  into  her  shell  the  instant  she  had  fallen 
under  the  shrewd,  delving  glance  of  the  man  of  the  world, 
felt  a  sudden  warming  of  her  heart  toward  him.  Dan 
gerfield  put  out  his  hand  with  a  nervous  laugh  and  laid 
it  on  De  Gollyer's  arm. 

"  I  know  you  are,  Bob,"  he  said.  "  Well,  I'm  coming 
back." 

"And  the  work?" 

Dangerfield  looked  at  Inga,  a  sudden  longing  in  his 
eyes.  She  comprehended  and  smiled  back  her  acqui 
escence. 

"  Come  and  see  —  you'll  be  the  first." 


4o8  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

De  Gollyer  had  not  missed  the  question  and  the  answer 
which  had  flashed  between  them.  Plainly  Inga  intrigued 
his  imagination  the  more.  She  was  the  key  to  the  mys 
tery  and,  at  times,  while  he  sat  listening  to  Dangerfield, 
his  eyes  fixed  themselves  on  hers  with  an  intensity  that 
left  her  hotly  conscious  and  at  times  she  felt  this  glance 
wandering  down  to  the  fingers  of  her  left  hand. 

Dangerfield  was  not  in  the  mood  for  general  conversa 
tion,  and,  beyond  amicable  greetings,  avoided  joining  De 
Gollyer's  party.  She  herself  suggested  that  they  should 
leave,  uncomfortable  at  the  encounter,  keenly  aware  of 
the  covert  looks  the  three  acquaintances  were  sending  in 
her  direction,  divining  the  manner  of  their  astonish 
ment,  of  which  she  was  the  object.  When  they  were  on 
the  sidewalk,  in  the  cool  of  the  luminous  night,  she  drew 
closer  to  Dangerfield  and  slipped  her  hand  under  his  arm, 
a  little  possessive  gesture  she  seldom  used.  He  looked 
down  at  her  wondering,  a  little  perplexed,  and  patted  her 
hand  affectionately. 

"  Lord,  that  was  a  surprise!  "  he  said,  thinking  of  De 
Gollyer.  "It's  like  the  wind,  banging  open  the  front 
door.  I  just  had  to  ask  him  up.  Did  you  mind? " 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  It  had  to  come." 


XLIV 

THEY  had  taken  rendezvous  with  De  Gollyer  for  noon 
of  the  next  day.  By  eleven  Inga  had  the  studio  in  order, 
arranging  it  with  solicitous  eye,  hastening  out  to  add  the 
pleasant  touch  of  a  few  clusters  of  gold  and  red  poppies 
with  the  instinct  of  the  woman  who  felt  that  she  too,  and 
her  work,  were  on  trial.  When  she  returned  she  found 
Dangerfield  in  a  fever  of  restlessness  tramping  the  room. 
She  came  in  quietly,  arranging  the  brilliant  notes  of  frag 
ile  petals  so  as  to  lighten  up  the  somberness  of  the  great 
renaissance  table,  watching  meanwhile  the  furrowed 
moods  which  fell  rapidly  over  the  face  of  the  artist.  For 
the  moment  he  was  the  Dangerfield  of  the  first  days,  crea 
ture  of  wavering  temperament  and  undisciplined  im 
pulses.  The  meeting  with  De  Gollyer  had  come  to  him  as 
a  cry  in  the  wilderness.  The  old  life,  the  old  traditions, 
the  old  habits,  deep  as  the  deepest  instincts,  came  throng 
ing  back  to  him,  reclaiming  him  in  this  dark  continent 
of  the  sixth  floor  back  of  Teagan's  Arcade.  Passions 
little  and  great  pass  away  but  the  comradeship  of  man 
to  man  abides  through  failure  and  disaster.  One  word 
from  De  Gollyer  had  loosened  a  thousand  voices  calling 
him  back. 

Beyond  all  this  social  atavism  was  an  impending  test 
De  Gollyer  was  not  simply  a  facile-lipped  critic  but  one 
who  knew.  A  profound  discouragement  seized  him,  a 
weakening  sense  of  despair.  He  turned  suddenly  and  his 
hand  trembled  a  little. 

"  Wish  I'd  never  met  him;  wish  I'd  never  told  him  to 
come,"  he  blurted  out. 


410  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

Inga,  watching  him,  understood  him  better. 

"  You  have  nothing  to  fear,"  she  said  with  a  touch  of 
pride. 

Danger-field  did  not  seem  to  have  heard  her  for  he 
whipped  about  the  room  a  score  of  times,  before  stop 
ping  suddenly. 

"  Inga,"  he  said  nervously,  "  what  would  you  show 
him?  Just  the  things  I  did  lately,  that  bit  of  Grand 
Street  and  the  Italian  wedding?  They're  the  best,  I 
think.  Or  would  you  show  the  sketches  at  the  seashore 
also  ?  Or  what  would  you  do  ?  " 

Womanlike,  she  resented  this  sudden  timidity  before 
the  judgment  of  another,  resenting  that  the  masculine 
authority  which  she  had  herself  built  up  should  yield,  if 
only  momentarily,  before  the  personality  of  another  man. 

"  Begin  with  the  beginning.     Show  him  all  just  as  you 
did  it.     It's  that  that's  wonderful;  to  follow  each  step, 
to  realize  how  you  have  grown  to  what  you  are  doing 
now." 
-    "  You  think  so?"  he  said  doubtfully. 

"  Why  do  you  care  so  much  what  one  man  thinks  ?  " 
she  said  with  a  flash  of  anger.  "  It's  you  who  have  done 
the  big  thing.  I  am  not  afraid." 

"  It's  not  entirely  what  he  will  say,"  he  answered 
slowly.  "  It's  the  criticism  I  shall  pass  on  myself  when 
I  look  at  them  through  his  eyes.  So  you  would  begin 
with  the  beginning.  Yes,  I  think  you're  right." 

He  gave  a  sigh  of  relief,  as  though  this  were  a  difficult 
point  settled,  and  began  to  rummage  among  the  records 
of  the  year,  sorting  the  canvases  as  he  wished  to  have 
them  presented. 

She  moved  over  to  the  open  window  and  waited,  her 
arm  on  the  sill,  looking  out,  listening  for  a  footstep  in 
the  hall  with  a  little  frightened  tremulous  leap  of  the 
heart,  feeling  the  imminence  of  a  new  phase  in  the  life 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  411 

of  this  man  whose  every  hour  she  had  shared,  a  phase 
that  held  something  ominous  for  her,  the  rushing  in  of 
the  outer  world,  the  return  of  old  friends,  the  thronging 
in  of  admiring  acquaintances,  the  multitude  pouring  in 
to  separate  them  and  claim  its  right  in  the  life  which  had 
been  wholly  hers. 

De  Gollyer  arrived  even  before  the  hour  set,  an  eager 
ness  in  his  eyes,  an  expectancy  in  the  rapid  prying  glances 
which  scoured  the  studio,  delving  into  the  darkest  corner, 
divining  what  lay  behind  each  concealing  screen.  He 
wfas  surprised  —  plainly  surprised  —  at  the  exquisite 
harmony  of  the  studio.  Man  of  the  world,  connoisseur 
of  the  human  drama  strongly  blended  with  the  militant 
honesty  of  the  genuine  critic,  he  had  a  sure  instinct  of  the 
right  word  and  the  right  action.  He  felt  in  Inga  a 
strong  antagonism  and  a  certain  unease  before  his  in 
truding  attitude. 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  Dangerfield,"  he  said,  going  to  her  in 
stantly.  "  I  congratulate  the  wife.  Everything  is  per 
fect,  absolutely, —  just  so,  even  to  that  little  touch  of  red 
poppies  against  the  carved  wood  —  beautiful,  beautiful 
—  just  in  its  place,  adds  just  the  note,  just  the  right 
value.  Mr.  John  Sargent  couldn't  have  done  better. 
Dan,  if  you've  painted  anything  half  as  good  as  this  room 
I  shall  be  satisfied." 

Despite  herself,  Inga  began  to  laugh.  There  was  some 
thing  about  the  little  man  in  his  twinkling  eyes  and  shoot 
ing  eyebrows,  his  easy  adaptability  and  winning  friend 
liness  which  could  not  be  resisted. 

"  The  place  is  in  good  tone,"  said  Dangerfield,  pleased. 

"  Yes,  my  boy,"  said  De  Gollyer,  moving  from  right 
to  left,  nodding  his  head  in  appreciative  contemplation, 
"  and  I've  known  you  long  enough  to  know  that  you 
don't  deserve  the  slightest  credit  for  it.  Charming,  ab 
solutely  charming.  Mrs.  Dangerfield,  may  I  count  on 


4i2  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

you  to  decorate  the  new  apartment  which  I  am  taking 
this  winter  ?  " 

"  Indeed,  Mr.  De  Gollyer,"  said  Inga,  laughing, 
"you're  quite  wrong.  I  had  very  little  to  do  with  it." 

"  And  that  note  of  red  poppies  ?  "  said  De  Gollyer  tri 
umphantly.  "  Ah,  what  about  that?  No,  no,  I  refuse 
to  believe  anything  but  what  I  want  to  believe."  And 
as  Dangerfield  had  turned  from  the  easel  and  was  search 
ing  among  the  stacked  canvases  making  his  choice,  De 
Gollyer,  holding  out  his  hand  to  Inga,  looked  her  steadily 
in  the  eyes  and  added :  "  Mrs.  Dangerfield,  you  are  a 
wonderful  woman.  Allow  me  to  thank  you  in  the  name 
of  American  art." 

She  understood  him  beneath  his  jest  and  smiled  back 
her  serious  smile  —  yet  a  little  uneasy,  feeling  a 
new  and  strange  world  which  had  come  in  with  his  en 
trance. 

"  I'm  so  glad  you  have  come  to  see  what  he  has  done," 
she  said  shyly.  She  looked  covertly  at  her  husband  and 
added  with  a  glance  of  subtle  warning,  almost  imploring : 
"  You're  the  first  he  has  shown  anything  to.  Your  opin 
ion  will  mean  everything  to  him." 

"  Madame,  I  am  a  friend  before  I  am  a  critic." 

He  gave  her  a  reassuring  nod  and  this  moment  of 
friendly  treachery  seemed  to  bring  them  into  an  intimate 
alliance. 

He  had  indeed  made  up  his  mind  to  adjust  his  criti 
cism  to  the  evident  exigencies  of  his  friend's  situation, 
but  this  benevolent  attitude  disappeared  with  his  first  in 
spection.  De  Gollyer,  as  Dangerfield  had  said,  had  more 
than  erudition  and  the  compilation  of  technique  at  his 
finger  tips.  His  instinct  was  keen  and  his  judgment  sel 
dom  erred.  He  had  expected  to  witness  a  measure  of 
growth  along  the  lines  of  the  polite  and  rather  dramatic 
talent  which  his  friend  had  shown  in  the  past.  He  was 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  413 

quite  unprepared  for  the  revolution  which  had  been 
wrought. 

"  Going  to  show  you  what  I  have  been  at  from  month 
to  month/*  said  Dangerfield  nervously.  "  I  think  it  will 
interest  you.  At  any  rate  that  is  Inga's  advice  and  I  am 
going  to  follow  it." 

De  Gollyer  immediately  bowed  to  Inga  and  said  in  a 
sharp  staccato  which  marked  the  passage  of  the  man  of 
the  world  and  the  arrival  of  the  critic :  "  Quite  so,  quite 
so,  and  now,  my  boy,  let's  go  to  it.  I  want  to  see  every 
thing,  good,  bad  and  indifferent.  We'll  go  through 
everything  once  —  without  any  phrases,  sans  phrases, 
sans  phrases!  The  eagle's  point  of  view  first  —  le  coup 
d'  ceil!  " 

"  That  suits  me,"  said  Dangerfield,  by  the  easel. 
"  Well,  here  are  some  of  the  first  things,  a  few  sketches  I 
made  last  Spring  when  this  young  lady  was  getting  hold 
of  me." 

He  brought  out  a  half  dozen  of  the  rapid,  powerful, 
incisive  sketches  which  had  marked  even  to  his  own  sur 
prise  the  complete  and  unpremeditated  revolution  in  his 
art. 

"  Eh,  what?  "  said  De  Gollyer  with  an  exclamation  of 
astonishment,  "  one  moment,  one  moment."  He  took  a 
few  quick  steps  forward,  pursed  his  lips,  drew  his  eye 
brows  together  and  stared  at  the  canvases.  Then  he 
looked  up  suddenly  at  Dangerfield  with  an  astonishment 
so  complete  that  a  great  wave  of  happiness  came  into  the 
soul  of  the  artist.  "Um-um,  is  it  so?  Well,  well,  in 
deed? —  Suppose  we  go  a  little  slow.  Last  Spring, 
hey?  You  did  that  last  Spring?  My  boy,  my  boy,  you 
should  have  warned  me.  Well,  well,  is  it  possible?" 

A  sudden  excitement  caught  him.  On  that  instant,  he 
divined  what  was  ahead  and  with  it  came  a  certain  pos 
sessive  joy  of  discovery,  that  he,  De  Gollyer,  would  have 


4i4  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

it  within  his  power  to  announce  a  new  phenomenon  to 
an  interested  world.  He  became  transformed  into  a  veri 
table  dynamo  of  human  curiosity,  excited  as  a  connois 
seur  who  in  a  casual  rummaging  suddenly  stumbles  upon 
a  treasure  of  the  past.  He  wished  to  see  everything, 
even  the  hurried  fragments,  details  of  arms  and  shoulders, 
suggestions  of  profiles  and  figures  blocked  in  with 'a  few 
rapid  fertile  lines.  In  his  excitement  he  seemed  to  for 
get  their  presence,  or  rather  to  have  suddenly  assumed 
command  of  the  situation  by  right  of  a  superior  authority, 
giving  his  orders  in  quick,  nervous  staccato,  insisting  on 
recalling  canvases  which  had  pleased  him,  discarding  a 
few  with  peremptory  directness. 

"  Not  bad,  not  bad  for  last  year  but  no  place  here,  my 
boy.  You've  gone  beyond  that.  Burn  them  up  or,  bet 
ter  still,  send  them  to  that  ass  Carvallo;  that's  just  what 
he  would  understand.  He  could  sell  a  dozen  of  those  to 
his  moving-picture  aristocracy.  Put  it  aside,  Dan,  it 
doesn't  belong.  No  American  sentimentalism,  no  Hud 
son  River  school!  We've  gone  beyond  Queen  Vic 
toria!" 

The  rejections  which  the  little  Czar  of  criticism  ordered 
into  the  scrap  heap  with  intolerant  finger  were  few  and, 
to  tell  the  truth,  quite  merited.  Dangerfield  himself  ad 
mitted  their  justice  with  a  curt  nod  of  his  head  while  the 
canvas  went  shying  across  the  floor,  like  a  discarded  rag. 

They  came  to  the  first  impressionistic  water  colors  of 
the  summer,  rapid  notes  of  vagrant  flitting  moods  of  na 
ture  seized  in  unconscious  rapture  of  the  moment.  De 
Gollyer  was  plainly  puzzled. 

"  It's  the  same  and  yet  not  the  same/'  he  said,  staring 
at  them.  "  It's  more  personal.  Beautiful,  brilliant, — 
you  waste  nothing;  right  to  the  mark;  you're  after  the 
essential  thing  and  you've  got  it,  but  it's  personal.  It's 
your  mood.  Mind  you,  I  don't  say  they're  not  aston- 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  415 

ishing;  they  are.  Don't  know  any  one  else  who  could 
have  done  it  just  the  same  way.  We  must  exhibit  them 
all  together  —  a  riot  of  sensations.  By  Jove,  yes,  sensa 
tions,  that's  just  the  word,"  he  said,  delighted  to  have 
found  the  exact  term.  "  But  we're  looking  for  bigger 
things,  Dan  —  le  coup  d}  ceil,  the  big  vision.  Um-um, 
very  fine,  very  fine,  bewildering  but  sensations.  My  boy, 
they're  your  moods.  If  I  must  pass  a  criticism,  pass  a 
very  captious  criticism,  you  were  too  much  in  love,  that's 
it,  too  much  in  love.  Mrs.  Dangerfield,  as  a  man  of  the 
world  I  am  altogether  charming;  as  a  critic  I  am  merci 
less.  Dan  was  too  much  in  love  with  you  when  he  did 
these.  A  captious  criticism,  a  very  captious  criticism  — 
but  go  on,  go  on  —  I  feel  something  coming." 

De  Gollyer's  remarks  spread  a  certain  embarrassment 
which  he  was  too  keen  not  to  notice  and  too  clever  to 
seem  to  observe.  Inga  sat  down,  clasping  her  hands  over 
her  knee,  staring  at  the  speaker  with  a  sudden  alarmed 
perception  that  beneath  the  apparent  lightness  of  his 
phrases,  there  was  a  man  who  saw  with  a  clarity  which 
left  her  with  a  sudden  sense  of  impending  danger.  Dan 
gerfield,  to  cover  his  confusion,  for  he  himself  recog 
nized  instantly  the  subtlety  of  his  friend's  criticism, 
hastened  across  the  studio  to  return  with  a  new  batch, 
the  record  of  their  sojourn  along  the  broken  coasts  of  the 
sea.  Then  he  stepped  back,  moved  over  to  the  chair 
where  Inga  sat  staring  ahead  and  laid  his  hand  on  her 
shoulder  with  a  premonition  of  what  must  lie  in  her  mind 
before  this  inspection  of  De  Gollyer's  which  divined  those 
things  beneath  the  surface  of  the  paint  —  which  they 
themselves  had  never  faced  in  complete  honesty  to  them 
selves. 

When  De  Gollyer  had  reached  that  period  which  had 
been  the  crisis  of  Dangerfield's  internal  conflict,  those 
weeks  in  which  he  had  won  a  final  dispassionate  inde- 


416  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

pendence,  the  little  man  sprang  forward  eagerly  as  a  fal 
con  sighting  its  prey. 

"  At  last!  I  knew  it,  my  boy,  I  knew  it,"  he  cried  in 
a  fever  of  excitement.  "  I've  hunches  —  prophetic 
hunches  and  I  knew  this  was  coming.  I  knew  it  from  the 
moment  you  showed  me  that  first  sketch.  My  boy,  this 
is  it!  By  Jove,  this  is  fine!  You've  gone  far,  you've 
gone  beyond  yourself.  By  Jove,  this  is  a  smasher!" 
He  turned  and  held  out  his  hand,  aglow  with  enthusiasm. 
"  Dan,  your  hand ;  criticism  ends  here,  you  amaze  me.  I 
didn't  think  you  could  do  it.  By  Jove,  no,  I  didn't!  " 

Inga  forgot  all  her  alarmed  resentment  at  one  sight 
of  Dangerfield's  face. 

"  It  is  good,"  said  Dangerfield  reverently,  staring  be 
yond  the  canvas. 

"  Let's  go  on,  let's  go  on,"  said  De  Gollyer,  impatiently. 

As  canvas  succeeded  canvas  his  amazement  and  de 
light  increased.  When  they  came  to  the  record  of  the 
winter;  to  those  clear,  powerful  revelations  of  the  hidden 
treasures  of  the  great  metropolis  which  later  furnished 
New  York  with  the  artistic  sensation  of  years,  De  Goll 
yer  suddenly  sat  down  as  though  weakened  under  the 
powerful  stress  of  discovery,  absorbed  in  a  mood  of  com 
plete  silence  which  might  have  deceived  any  one  but  the 
friend  who  knew  the  value  of  this  rare  tribute  of  pro 
found  amazement.  At  the  end,  instead  of  a  new  out 
burst  of  enthusiasm  which  Inga  had  expected,  he  got  up, 
walked  over  to  the  table,  picked  up  a  cigarette  absent- 
mindedly  and  went  to  the  window,  looking  out  without 
bothering  himself  to  phrase  a  compliment.  She  felt  a 
sudden  sinking  of  the  heart,  a  brief  transitory  emotion 
which  took  flight  on  the  instant  that  Dangerfield  turned 
towards  her  with  a  glow  in  his  eyes  such  as  she  had  never 
seen.  She  went  to  him,  raised  his  hand  to  her  lips, 
turned  aside  to  hide  a  sudden  rush  of  tears  to  her  eyes, 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  417 

and  feeling  the  need  of  the  two  friends  to  be  alone  in 
their  emotion,  nodded  and  went  out. 

When  De  Gollyer  turned  at  last  and  came  back  down 
the  room,  Dangerfield,  catching  his  eye,  said  quietly : 

"  Yes,  I  know  what  I've  done  but  I  wondered  if  you 
—  others  would  see  it." 

"  My  boy,  it  will  be  a  riot,"  said  De  Gollyer  solemnly. 
"  You've  given  me  a  thrill,  you  have,  and  that's  a  fact. 
How  the  devil  did  it  happen  ?  " 

Dangerfield  silently  extended  his  hand  toward  the  door 
through  which  Inga  had  passed. 

"  It  was  sink  or  swim.     Kismet,  that's  the  answer." 

"  We  gave  you  six  months  down  at  the  club,"  said  De 
Gollyer.  "  Remember  the  last  night  you  were  there?  " 

"  I  remember." 

"  We  expected  anything  then  —  any  moment." 

"  And  you  were  right." 

"  We  lost  track  of  you.  We  heard  you'd  dropped  out. 
How  in  thunder  did  she  ever  do  it?  " 

"  There  are  some  women,  very  few,  in  this  world," 
said  Dangerfield  slowly,  "  who  were  put  here  to  do  just 
such  things,  who  are  only  happy  when  they  are  giving 
everything,  pulling  some  poor  devil  out  of  the  gutter  and 
putting  him  on  his  feet  again, —  some  one  of  course  worth 
the  saving." 

"  My  boy,"  said  De  Gollyer,  "  I  know  you'll  under 
stand  my  curiosity.  You  and  I  have  gone  shoulder  and 
shoulder  through  too  many  things  to  beat  about  the  bush. 
Tell  me  about  your  wife.  I  confess  to  you  that  I  cannot 
make  her  out.  As  you  know,  I  rather  pride  myself  on 
reading  human  nature." 

Dangerfield  was  silent  a  moment,  then  he  installed  him 
self  in  the  chair  opposite  his  friend,  drew  out  his  pipe  and 
began  to  smoke. 

Between  the  two  had  been  one  of  those  rare  intimacies 


418  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

only  privileged  to  men  of  the  world  who  have  early 
reached  that  stage  in  their  intellectual  development  when 
they  have  rejected  shams  and  take  a  mutual  delight  in 
the  recognition  of  life  as  it  is  in  its  profound  varieties 
and  inexplicable  turns  of  fate.  When  they  spoke  to  each 
other  it  was  always  in  absolute  confidence  and  without  at 
tempt  at  masking  their  thoughts. 

"  Bob,"  said  Dangerfield,  "  I  will  be  quite  frank  with 
you.  My  wife  is  as  great  a  mystery  to  me  to-day  as  the 
first  time  she  came  into  my  life.  I  know  nothing  of  her 
past  or  what  she  may  do  in  the  future.  And  I  don't 
want  to  know.  She  came  into  my  life  by  chance,  if  you 
wish  to  call  it  so.  She  saw  me  as  you  remember  me, 
down  and  out!  That  was  enough  for  her.  She  had  to 
attach  herself  to  me,  to  cling  to  me,  to  fight  for  the  spark 
that  was  still  left  flickering.  She  is  of  a  different  race, 
different  instincts,  than  we  are.  There  is  something  of 
the  strange  forbidding  reticence  of  the  north  countries 
about  her.  I've  tried  in  the  moments  when  I  loved  her 
most  to  force  myself  beyond  this  barrier.  I  have  never 
succeeded.  Now  I  don't  want  to.  Sometimes  I  try  to 
understand  her  and  I  think,  in  a  way,  that  the  time  when 
I  was  wildest,  the  most  helpless,  I  brought  her  the  keen 
est  happiness.  It's  a  curious  thing  to  say,  and  you  are 
perhaps  the  only  man  who  will  understand  it,  but  some 
times  I  think  she  misses  that.  Now  that  the  battle  has 
been  won,  you  may  not  believe  it,  but  I  think  the  rest  will 
count  for  very  little, —  the  success  and  the  public  and  all 
that.  When  that  comes  she  will  be  very  lonely,  poor 
child." 

He  drew  a  long  puff,  gazed  dreamily  into  the  recesses 
of  the  studio  and  said : 

"  Did  you  ever,  when  you  were  a  boy,  catch  a  bird,  im 
prison  it  in  a  cage,  feed  it  and  make  a  friend  of  it  till  it 
would  sing  whenever  you  came  near  and  then  feel  an  ir- 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  419 

resistible  impulse  to  throw  open  the  bars  and  give  it 
liberty  ?  "  He  stopped,  looked  down  at  the  floor  and 
added:  "Understand?" 

"  Yes,  by  Jove,  I  do  understand,"  said  De  Gollyer. 
"  The  Slav  women  are  like  that.  I've  seen  them.  There 
is  something  imprisoned  about  her,  something  unfinished. 
I  think  that  is  what  struck  me,  what  puzzled  me.  Dan, 
she  won't  like  what's  ahead,  the  going  back,  the  follow 
ing  you  into  your  world.  For  of  course  you  will  go 
back  now,  you  can't  help  it." 

"  I  am  very  proud  of  her,"  said  Dangerfield  loyally. 
"  Will  I  go  back  ?  I  don't  know.  It  depends  on  many 
things  —  on  her  happiness  principally.  I  have  loved  her 
passionately  and  I  have  suffered,  as  I  never  thought  I 
could  suffer,  out  of  the  blindest  jealousy,  at  the  very 
thought  that  another  man  could  have  meant  anything 
to  her  in  her  past.  I  suffered  and  that  is  perhaps  what 
I  needed  the  most." 

De  Gollyer  smiled  and  with  a  quick  movement  of  his 
hand  indicated  the  canvases  arranged  against  the  wall. 

"  I  saw  all  that,  I  saw  what  you  had  been  through.  I 
shouldn't  have  said  what  I  did  about  your  being  too  much 
in  love,  my  boy,  but  I  didn't  say  what  I  saw  afterward." 

"Understand  me,"  said  Dangerfield  loyally;  "I  love 
her." 

"  I  understand  the  distinction." 

"  What  I  mean  is  that  the  great  madness  has  passed. 
If  it  had  not  I  should  have  been  consumed  by  it.  The 
feeling  that  has  succeeded,  the  feeling  that  has  given  me 
the  power  to  look  out  of  myself  —  the  thing  you  feel 
there  in  my  work,  is  the  feeling  of  absolute  tranquillity 
with  all  the  world.  I  have  made  the  harbor.  As  for 
Inga,  she  has  a  right  to  everything  in  my  life,  nothing 
could  ever  make  me  give  her  up.  I  am  bound  to  her  by 
gratitude  which  nothing  can  ever  shake  and  at  the  bot- 


420  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

torn,  Bob,  I  know  that  the  best  thing  for  me  would  be 
to  live  her  life,  to  stay  out  of  all  the  old  life,  keep  out 
of  the  society  rigmarole  and  the  parade." 

"  My  boy,  you  are  quite  right,"  said  De  Gollyer  with 
a  smile.  "  But  will  you  do  it?  You've  been  a  man  of 
the  world  and  when  you  once  get  that  point  of  view  it's 
in  the  blood.  It  calls  you  whether  you're  in  Timbuctoo 
or  buried  in  a  shanty  in  Harlem.  Things  like  that  are 
in  the  blood,  Dan,  and  then  it's  something  to  come  back, 
to  feel  the  joy  of  the  fight  and,  damn  it,  it's  your  right 
to  feel  that." 

The  door  opened  and  Inga  came  in,  hesitating  a  mo 
ment  on  the  threshold  with  an  inquiring  glance  at  the 
two  men  who  were  relaxed  in  their  moment  of  intimacy. 

"  We've  been  talking  over  plans  for  the  exhibition," 
said  De  Gollyer  glibly.  "  It  must  be  a  smasher,  the  big 
gest  thing  of  the  season.  I'm  going  to  bring  up  a  couple 
of  men  to-morrow,  Mrs.  Dangerfield.  We  are  going  to 
make  Dan  the  sensation  of  the  town." 

"  I  am  very  glad,"  she  said,  with  a  nod  of  her  head. 
She  looked  at  them  a  moment  and  then  took  a  seat 
quietly.  She  knew  that  they  had  not  been  discussing 
what  he  had  said. 

Dangerfield  arose  and  coming  over  to  her  put  his  hand 
lightly  over  her  head.  She  looked  up  quickly  and  smiled, 
but  into  her  heart  again  there  crept  a  sense  of  something 
undecipherable  and  threatening,  the  end  of  something, 
the  beginning  of  a  new  confusing  phase,  a  new  world 
which  came  crowding  against  her. 


XLV 

DE  GOLLYER'S  coming  changed  everything.  Each  day 
other  men  returned  out  of  the  past,  fragments  of  the  life 
which  had  gone  before;  brother  artists  arriving  prepared 
to  praise  and  staying  to  contemplate  in  amazement  the 
rise  of  a  master  talent.  Under  De  Gollyer's  expert 
guidance  other  types  arrived,  dealers  with  keen  business 
instincts,  vying  for  the  honor  of  the  first  exhibition;, 
men  about  town,  celebrities  of  the  hour,  of  that  lighter, 
complex  cosmopolitan  world  of  amusement  which  New 
York  recruits  from  the  four  quarters  of  the  globe,  on 
curiosity  bent,  fulsome  in  their  eulogies,  studying  Inga 
with  undisguised  curiosity,  with  that  look  which  she  now 
understood  so  well,  that  calculating  glance  which  De  Goll- 
yer  had  sent  her  on  the  night  of  their  first  encounter,  the 
look  of  trying  to  appraise  her,  to  decide  just  what  the 
situation  called  for.  They  came,  welcome  or  unwelcome, 
as  formerly  the  summer  hordes  had  invaded  the  privacy 
of  their  life  by  the  lake  and  driven  them  into  flight  — 
only  this  time  there  was  no  retreat  possible. 

Day  and  night  were  crowded  with  the  business  of  art. 
Rarely  now  were  they  able  to  slip  away  for  a  quiet  meal 
by  themselves.  The  door  was  always  open  to  the  arrival 
of  some  new  enthusiast  and  until  midnight  and  after,  the 
studio  was  alive  with  eager  voluble  groups  rallying 
around  the  restored  leader.  In  this  new  pervading  ex 
citement  of  the  return  there  was  no  time  for  work.  Oc 
casionally  Dangerfield  made  an  attempt  to  paint  but  the 
mood  was  not  on  him.  Something  else  obsessed  his 
imagination,  the  exhilaration  that  came  to  him  in  this 


422  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

flocking  back  of  brilliant  acquaintances;  in  this  eager 
preparation  for  the  exhibition  which  would  bring  him 
the  one  great  moment  apart  from  all  other  hours  of  tri 
umph,  which  would  remain  supreme  in  the  memory  of  the 
artist.  This  exhibition,  carefully  prepared  for  by  a  bril 
liant  article  of  De  Gollyer's,  caught  the  fancy  of  the  New 
York  public  with  the  shock  of  a  dramatic  surprise  in 
which  the  personal  history  of  Dangerfield  himself,  his 
strange  ups  and  downs,  counted  for  much.  The  news 
papers,  grateful  for  this  surprising  climax  in  the  drama 
of  a  life  which  they  had  so  faithfully  recorded,  devoted 
columns  to  the  purely  personal  side  of  this  astonishing 
renaissance,  retelling  old  anecdotes,  detailing  intimacies 
of  his  stormy  and  picturesque  career.  Fortunately  the 
danger  of  a  too  theatric  success  was  averted  by  an  im 
mediate  conflict  among  the  super-critics.  Dangerfield 
had  the  inestimable  fortune  of  being  viciously  and  scath 
ingly  attacked  by  the  intrenched  conservatives  and  as 
violently  defended  by  the  young  and  the  radicals.  Over 
night  he  found  himself  at  the  head  of  a  party,  claimed  as 
a  pioneer  who  had  revealed  the  significance  and  vitality 
of  the  neglected  fields  of  American  art. 

He  exhibited  in  the  Spring  exhibitions  and  everywhere 
was  honored  with  gold  medals  and  special  prizes.  A 
month  after  his  first  appearance  before  the  public  his 
prices  had  trebled  and  even  at  these  figures  his  canvases 
were  eagerly  snatched  up. 

In  all  this  flurry  of  success  Inga  remained  a  little  be 
wildered.  She  had  gone  to  the  private  view  and  to  the 
opening  day  but  from  then  on  she  had  returned  into  her 
shell  and  slowly  eliminated  herself.  Before  these  bril 
liant  crowds  of  an  alien  world  she  found  herself  ill  at 
ease,  keenly  sensitive  of  the  storm  of  whispered  comments 
of  which  she  felt  herself  the  center,  embarrassed  by  the 
curious  glances  which  played  over  her  as  she  moved  si- 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  423 

lently,  a  little  frightened,  by  the  shoulder  of  her  husband* 
Invitations  poured  in  upon  him  from  those  eager  to  ex 
ploit  a  new  personality.  He  refused  them  all,  ready  to 
meet  those  who  came  with  their  enthusiasms  to  his  studio, 
declining  to  venture  forth.  She  thought  she  understood 
the  reasons  of  these  refusals  in  his  loyalty  to  her.  She 
watched  him  covertly,  with  the  perplexity  of  a  mother 
bird  who  sees  its  nestling  take  wing  and  soar  away.  In 
the  discussions  which  raged  over  the  supper  table  and  in 
the  quiet  of  the  studio  nights  she  remained  always  in  the 
distance.  They  spoke  of  things  which  she  did  not  under 
stand  but  she  did  understand  how  eagerly  the  mind  of 
Dangerfield  craved  this  exhilaration  of  the  imagination 
and  as  she  had  learned  to  read  his  innermost  thoughts, 
the  passing  expression  in  his  eyes,  she  comprehended  that 
despite  his  determined  exile  there  were  cravings  in  him, 
even  necessities,  for  the  stimulus  of  the  more  public  tri 
umphs  which  he  refused.  She  felt  the  happiness  which 
would  come  to  him  in  a  complete  return  to  the  world  of 
celebrities,  among  those  favored  few  whose  presence  is 
greeted  by  a  stir  in  the  crowd. 

De  Gollyer,  Quinny,  and  Steingall  had  urged  him  to 
return  to  the  club  as  a  sort  of  first  step  back  into  the  world 
which  eagerly  awaited  him.  Despite  his  persistent  re 
fusal,  in  which  lay  perhaps  a  temperamental  shrinking 
before  the  publicity  of  the  test,  Inga  comprehended  how 
deeply  inlaid  was  this  new  longing.  To  her  there  was  a 
sort  of  finality  about  the  decision,  a  final  surrender  of  the 
last  hold  which  she  had  over  his  life.  Yet  as  always  this 
very  realization  drove  her  to  urge  the  thing  she  feared. 
When  her  mind  was  made  up  she  met  the  situation  with 
out  equivocation,  with  characteristic  frankness. 

"  There  is  one  thing  you  really  ought  to  do,"  she  said 
to  him  one  night  when  the  last  late  guests  had  departed 
and  they  remained  alone  in  the  studio. 


424  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

"  What' s  that?"  he  asked  without  particular  atten 
tion  to  her  remark.  He  was  still  keyed  up  by  the  excite 
ment  of  the  discussion  which  had  ended,  a  discussion  in 
which  he  had  dominated  by  a  boldness  and  justness  of 
opinion. 

"  Go  back." 

"  Go  back?  "  he  said,  startled,  and  looking  at  her  with  a 
puzzled  frown. 

She  nodded.     "  Yes,  it  is  time." 

"  Why  do  you  say  that  ?  It's  very  strange  that  you 
should  say  that,"  he  said  evasively  and  turning  from  her 
he  flung  down  in  an  easy  chair  outside  the  circle  of  light, 
so  that  his  face  was  concealed  in  the  shadow. 

"  Because  it  is  time,"  she  said  quietly,  "  and  —  because 
you  want  to  go." 

"  The  idea !  "  he  said  laughing  nervously.  "  Haven't  I 
refused  again  and  again?" 

"  Yes,  that's  so."  She  hesitated  a  moment,  then 
added :  "  Mr.  Dan,  won't  you  tell  me,  honestly,  just 
why  you  have  refused  ?  " 

He  began  instantly,  a  little  too  hurriedly. 

"  Why,  Inga,  it's  very  simple.  I  should  think  you'd 
understand.  It's  just  the  very  thing  I  shouldn't  do.  I 
should  think  you  of  all  people  would  realize  —  you've 
heard  me  say  it  often  enough,  that  the  one  thing  an  artist 
should  do  is  to  keep  to  himself.  Why  should  I  go  out 
to  amuse  them?  They've  only  a  curiosity  to  see  a  new 
animal.  Heavens,  you  don't  mean  to  say  that  you  want 
to  take  up  society !  Inga,  that  would  be  amazing !  " 

"  No,  that's  not  what  I  want  but  it's  no  reason  why 
you  shouldn't  go." 

"  Here,  I  say,"  he  said  angrily  "  none  of  that !  Let's 
understand  each  other  once  for  all.  I'm  not  that  kind. 
Wherever  I  go  you  go." 

"  I  wish  you  would  go  back  to  your  club,"  she  said 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  425 

after  a  moment  without  answering  his  last  remark. 
"  That  is  different,  that  would  mean  a  lot  to  you.  Oh 
yes,  it  would  mean  a  lot,  I  know  it."  > 

"  Just  why  do  you  say  that?  " 

"  Because  such  things  mean  a  lot  to  you." 

"What  things?" 

"  Why,  the  feeling  of  being  admired  and  petted  after 
you've  done  something  big,"  she  said,  smiling  a  little. 
"  You're  very  much  of  a  boy.  Then  you  need  to  be  with 
men  who  wake  you  up.  It's  good  for  you.  I  can  see 
that  —  you  need  a  little  play." 

"  Well,  I'm  not  going,"  he  said  abruptly  and  with  a 
sudden  gesture  of  irritation  he  cut  her  short  and  refused 
to  discuss  the  matter  further. 

But  despite  his  protestations  he  longed  to  do  the  very 
thing  he  had  refused.  Yet  he  hesitated.  It  seemed  dis 
loyalty  to  her.  Just  why  he  should  feel  so  he  could  not 
quite  explain  to  himself,  yet  he  felt  despite  all  that  she 
had  said  it  would  send  her  further  from  him  than  she 
was  now,  with  the  feeling  of  encompassing  loneliness. 

It  was  not  until  a  week  after,  late  in  the  afternoon, 
after  a  renewed  urging  by  De  Gollyer  that  he  yielded  far 
enough  to  glance  undecidedly  at  Inga. 

"  Come  now,  Mrs.  Dangerfield,"  said  De  Gollyer, 
"  Dan  always  was  an  unsociable  brute.  He  ought  to  drop 
in,  you  know,  he  really  ought  to.  Every  one  at  the  club 
is  waiting  to  see  him  —  can't  understand  why  he  doesn't 
come  around." 

Inga  sprang  up  lightly  and  taking  up  Dangerfield's  coat 
brought  it  over  to  him  with  a  determined  air. 

"  Of  course  he  must  go  —  besides,  he's  just  dying  to," 
she  said  laughing. 

Dangerfield  hesitated,  resisting  a  little,  still  looking 
down  at  her. 

"  Are  you  sure  you  want  me  to  go?  " 


426  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

"  Very  sure." 

He  looked  into  her  eyes,  a  little  guilty  weakening  in  his 
heart.  Yet  he  was  unable  to  detect  any  modifying  seri 
ousness  beneath  the  lightness  of  her  expression.  He  al 
lowed  her  to  slip  his  arms  into  the  coat. 

"  There,"  she  cried ;  "  you  know  you're  just  crazy  to 
do  it." 

He  couldn't  repress  a  telltale  smile. 

"Well,  yes,"  he  said,  feeling  a  sudden  excitement  in 
his  voice.  "  It  will  mean  a  lot  to  go  back  to  see  the  boys 
once  more."  De  Gollyer  had  gone  ahead  down  the  hall. 
He  turned  again,  still  uneasy,  still  a  little  conscience 
smitten.  "  I'll  just  run  in  for  a  look  around.  Back  by 
seven."  Then  he  caught  her  in  his  arms  and  held  her 
close  to  him  in  one  of  the  old  impulsive  moods.  "  How 
do  you  know  so  well  what  I  want  to  do,  young  lady  ?  " 

"  I  do,"  she  said  defiantly. 

She  began  to  laugh  as  though  the  triumph  were  all  hers 
and  she  continued  laughing  until  he  had  gone  out  and 
closed  the  door. 


XLVI 

WHEN  he  saw  around  the  green  and  tranquil  park  the 
familiar  outlines  of  his  club,  he  had  a  feeling  as  though 
he  were  seeing  the  first  welcome  lights  of  civilization  after 
long  wandering  in  a  wilderness.  His  entrance  made  quite 
a  stir.  Old  Joseph  at  the  door  came  up  beaming  to  take 
his  hat  and  coat.  A  group  of  men  lounging  on  the  stairs 
turned  with  exclamations  of  surprise.  In  a  twinkling 
the  rumor  of  his  return  spread  from  floor  to  floor.  Men 
came  crowding  about  him,  old  friends  who  greeted  him 
uproariously,  concealing  under  the  boisterousness  of  their 
greeting  the  deep  emotion  which  each  felt.  He  had  been 
a  leader  here  and  the  sudden  thronging  of  those  whose 
names  he  could  scarcely  recall  showed  him  the  extent  to 
which  he  had  been  missed.  Every  one  had  a  word  of 
congratulation,  every  one  was  talking  of  his  exhibition. 
He  found  himself  quite  a  hero,  the  center  of  loyal  ad 
herents.  Nothing  seemed  to  have  changed.  There  were 
the  same  groups  about  the  billiard  tables,  the  same  eve 
ning  gatherings  at  the  bar;  he  felt  even  a  tolerant  affec 
tion  for  the  bores  and  the  dead-beats  who  never  change 
either.  He  was  back  among  his  own,  gloriously,  tri 
umphantly  returned.  These  were  of  the  old  guard,  who 
loved  him,  who  understood  what  he  had  accomplished, 
who  would  never  judge  him,  would  ask  no  questions, 
would  be  his  until  the  end,  no  matter  whether  that  end 
be  victory  or  emptiness,  in  the  loyal  fraternity  of  men. 
The  long  months  which  had  been  so  poignantly,  vitally 
alive  were  now  like  the  delirious  passage  of  a  fever. 

It  was  almost  seven  o'clock  before  he  realized  the  hour. 


428  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

He  would  have  liked  to  stay  for  dinner  in  the  old  dining 
room,  packed  with  relics  and  to  have  enjoyed  glutton 
ously  this  richness  of  affection,  to  have  felt  again  and 
again  the  strange  tingling  delight  as  each  new  figure  rec 
ognized  him  with  a  start  of  surprise  and  came  joyfully 
up  to  claim  him. 

On  his  way  to  the  Arcade  he  began  to  plan  many  things. 
There  was  no  reason  now  why  he  should  continue  the 
meagerness  of  their  present  life.  He  had  always  had  in 
him  luxurious  desires,  the  need  of  beautiful  surroundings 
and  a  disdain  of  petty  economies.  Now  that  he  had 
emerged  from  the  wilderness,  that  success  was  his,  he 
would  take  an  apartment  with  a  great  double  studio 
which  he  could  fit  out  with  all  the  luxury  of  detail  which 
his  pagan  temperament  craved.  Then,  they  could  readily 
afford  a  Japanese  servant  —  a  good  cook  who  would  pre 
side  over  the  little  dinners  for  which  he  had  once  been 
famous.  The  thought  of  a  butler  made  him  smile  a  little 
bit  at  himself  and  at  his  own  vanity.  He  admitted  to 
himself  that  he  was,  as  De  Gollyer  had  said,  of  the  world 
and  that  the  little  niceties  of  life  meant  much  to  him. 
But  he  smiled  at  himself  tolerantly,  for  he  was  aglow 
with  triumph  and  happiness.  If  he  wanted  a  thing  he 
wanted  it  immediately  and  it  rather  annoyed  him  that  it 
would  be  impossible  for  him  to  start  to  work  on  his  quest 
until  another  day  should  have  arrived. 

When  he  came  up  eagerly  to  his  studio  he  found  Inga 
waiting.  He  hesitated  and  then  deferred  the  question  of 
their  moving  until  another  day.  He  had  a  sudden  feel 
ing  that  she  would  oppose  the  suggestion  or  if  she  did  not 
oppose  it,  behind  the  baffling  calm  of  her  eyes  there  would 
be  a  deep  revolt.  Yet  when  a  few  days  later  he  made  up 
his  mind  after  much  hesitation  to  approach  the  subject, 
he  found  to  his  surprise  that  she  made  no  objection.  She 
asked  only  if  he  meant  to  abandon  the  studio  in  the  Ar- 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  429 

cade.  This  had,  in  fact,  been  his  idea  but  something  in 
the  directness  and  suddenness  of  this,  her  only  comment, 
made  him  change  his  mind. 

"  No,  no,"  he  said  hastily,  "  we'll  keep  this  for  the 
work,  for  the  serious  business  —  a  place  to  run  away 
from  people.  The  other  will  be  just  the  showcase." 

"  I  am  glad  you  are  not  going  to  give  this  up,"  she 
said  quietly. 

"  You'll  have  to  get  used  to  a  servant,  young  lady,"  he 
said  laughing,  "  and  a  Jap  butler  at  that." 

"  Til  try.     Have  you  found  a  place?  " 

He  nodded,  a  little  embarrassed  thus  to  admit  that  he 
had  kept  the  information  from  her  so  long. 

"  You'll  like  it  and  perhaps  you  will  even  get  used  to 
the  butler." 

She  seemed  to  accept  the  change  as  a  matter  of  course, 
as  though  it  was  something  she  had  foreseen  for  a  long 
while.  Her  attitude  rather  surprised  him.  He  had  not 
expected  such  easy  compliance.  Inga  as  the  head  of  the 
house  was  a  new  idea  to  him,  something  that  amused  and 
perplexed  him. 

Once  the  installation  completed  she  seemed  to  enter 
into  the  new  atmosphere  quite  naturally.  It  is  true  that 
she  became  more  reticent  than  ever,  seldom  joining  in 
the  general  conversation  except  when  addressed,  but  in 
the  company  of  others  —  and  their  rooms  were  seldom 
quiet  now  —  she  held  herself  with  grace  and  dignity.  If 
she  offered  no  advances  she  showed  no  antagonism.  The 
men  who  came  to  his  dinners  admired  her  tremendously 
though  their  wives  were  plainly  puzzled  by  her,  never 
quite  at  ease  in  her  presence.  Of  all  the  new  acquaint 
ances  perhaps  only  one,  De  Gollyer,  suspected  the  truth, 
that  she  was  absolutely  out  of  her  element,  quite  at  loss 
how  to  reconstruct  her  days. 


430  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

In  the  middle  of  the  second  month  she  said  to  Dan- 
gerfield  quite  suddenly  one  day : 

"  Would  you  mind  if  I  did  something?  " 

"What?"  he  asked  wondering. 

"  I've  decided  to  take  up  my  work  again." 

Since  their  marriage  she  had  abandoned  the  modest  lit 
tle  field  of  magazine  covers  and  posters  which  had  for 
merly  been  her  means  of  existence. 

"  Is  this  a  request  or  an  ultimatum?  "  he  said  grimly. 

She  frowned  and  for  a  moment,  he  saw  a  look  of  re 
bellion  in  her  eyes,  but  almost  immediately  she  looked 
down  at  the  floor. 

"  I  should  like  to  very  much/'  she  said.  "  I  am  rather 
—  rather  restless." 

"  Then  do  it  by  all  means,"  he  said  after  a  moment's 
reflection.  He  would  have  liked  to  seek  further  the  rea 
sons  of  this  sudden  resolve,  yet  he  hesitated,  feeling  a 
certain  unease  before  the  answer  which  might  be  critical. 
"  Besides,  Inga,  it  isn't  for  me  to  say  what  you  should 
or  shouldn't  do." 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  she  said,  "  but  I  wanted  to  tell  you." 

He  caught  her  hand  as  she  turned  to  depart. 

"  Are  you  unhappy,  Inga  ?  "  he  said  abruptly. 

She  shook  her  head.  , 

"  There's  nothing  I  have  done,  at  any  time,  to  hurt 
you,  is  there?  " 

"  No,  no,  Mr.  Dan,  nothing." 

"You'd  tell  me?" 

"  Why,  of  course." 

The  change  did  not  affect  the  ordinary  routine  of  their 
lives  much  except  that  as  he  spent  more  of  his  time  in  the 
apartment,  the  working  fit  being  still  absent,  while  Inga 
was  busy  at  the  Arcade,  their  days  became  more  divided. 
After  a  little  while  he  ceased  to  notice  this. 

One  afternoon  she  came  home  later  than  usual,  and  at 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  431 

the  first  glance  at  her  face  he  perceived  that  something 
out  of  the  ordinary  had  transpired.  He  helped  her  out 
of  her  coat  with  a  vague  feeling  of  uneasiness.  In  her 
hand  was  a  letter,  which  she  had  been  clutching  so  tightly 
that  it  had  become  twisted  and  wrinkled. 

"  Well,  what  has  happened  ?  "  he  said  when  they  had 
gone  into  the  studio  and  were  standing  by  the  great  win 
dow  that  gave  on  to  the  low  spread  of  park  beneath.  She 
looked  into  his  eyes  and  saw  them  go  down  to  the  crum 
pled  envelope  still  in  her  hand. 

"  You  remember  that  letter  ?  "  she  said  slowly,  "  that 
letter  last  summer  ?  " 

He  nodded. 

"And  this  is  another  one?" 

"  Yes." 

"From  him?" 

"  Yes,  from  him." 

He  looked  at  her,  seeing  the  agitation  which  had  her 
in  its  grip,  surprised  at  the  curious  calm  in  himself,  a 
calm  which  had  in  it  a  sudden  sense  of  pity. 

"  Inga,"  he  said  gently,  "  we  haven't  said  one  thing  to 
each  other  we  really  thought  for  months.  Don't  you 
think  it  is  better  to  talk  it  out?  " 

She  looked  at  him;  then  without  quite  realizing  the 
sense  of  what  she  was  doing  laid  the  letter  on  the  shelf 
of  the  window  and  absent-mindedly  began  to  smooth  it 
out,  but  her  eyes  were  far  away. 

"I  wonder  if  we  can,"  she  said  doubtfully;  "some 
things  are  so  hard  to  understand." 

He  took  her  by  the  wrist  and  led  her  before  the  great 
Florentine  fireplace,  installed  her  in  one  of  the  big  arm 
chairs  as  though  she  were  a  little  girl.  Then  he  sat  down 
himself. 

"  Inga,"  he  said  presently,  "  whatever  we  do  let's  feel 
we  can  say  to  each  other  just  what  we  think.  It's  the 


432  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

concealing  and  evasion  that  does  harm.  Now  under 
stand  me.  I  claim  no  rights  over  your  life  and  your  ac 
tions.  Yes,  I  did  once,  but  that  was  a  time  of  tempests 
and  jealousies  —  a  wild  moment, —  very  wonderful  per 
haps  to  have  known  but  which  could  only  have  brought 
unhappiness  to  both  of  us.  I  look  at  things  differently 
now.  I  don't  want  you  for  my  slave.  I  want  you  as  a 
free  companion.  You  must  be  that,  as  free  as  the  day  I 
met  you." 

She  drew  her  hands  up  before  her  lips  and  her  little 
teeth  closed  over  her  fingers  as  she  stared  into  the  shad 
ows  of  the  fireplace. 

"  You  are  unhappy  ?  "  he  said  slowly. 

"  No." 

"  Is  that  the  truth,  I  wonder?  " 

"  I  am  restless,"  she  said  after  a  moment. 

He  knew  to  insist  on  the  avenue  she  thus  opened  to 
him  meant  the  approach  to  a  perilous  understanding. 
Like  all  who  have  loved  and  have  reached  that  point 
where  they  perceive  life  must  be  readjusted,  he  began  by 
recoiling.  Something  seemed  to  close  cruelly  about  his 
heart  strings.  He  had  a  sudden  horror  of  what  might 
come,  the  dread  of  the  very  change  he  knew  was  in 
evitable.  He  rose,  moving  aimlessly,  sought  out  his  pipe, 
but  without  filling  it.  Then  he  returned  to  his  seat, 
looked  at  Inga  still  staring  ahead  and  said: 

"  What  do  you  want  to  say  to  me  ?  You  can  talk  out 
freely.  I  shall  understand  now." 

"  He  has  written  me  again,"  she  said  slowly. 

"  And  the  first  time, —  did  you  answer?  " 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  No." 

"  I  don't  know  why  I  said  that,  Inga,*'  he  corrected 
himself  hastily,  "  forgive  me.  I  know  you  better." 

She  raised  her  eyes,  looked  at  him  and  smiled  faintly. 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  433 

"  He  has  written  me  again,"  she  repeated  as  though 
she  had  forgotten  that  she  had  announced  it  before.  "  It 
is  very  pitiful.  He  is  in  a  bad  way,  he  has  no  one  and 
it  is  all  my  fault." 

"Yours,  Inga?"  he  said,  astonished. 

"  Yes,  it  is  my  fault,"  she  said,  her  glance  in  the  dis 
tance.  "  I  failed.  He  was  weak  —  very  weak  —  but  I 
failed  to  do  what  I  should." 

She  looked  down  and  drew  the  letter  from  its  en 
velope  and  extended  it  towards  him. 

"  Mr.  Dan  —  I  would  like  to  answer  it  —  very  much." 

He  looked  hungrily  at  the  crumpled  paper  she  thus  of 
fered  him.  He  knew  it  was  the  key  to  many  things  which 
had  mystified  him  in  the  past,  the  chart  to  that  shadowy 
personality  which  had  been  in  the  background  of  her  life, 
whom  often  he  had  detected  in  her  eyes  intruding  when 
most  they  were  alone,  whose  words  and  thoughts  had 
come  to  him  on  her  lips.  Then  a  wave  of  pity  came  to 
him  for  the  woman  whom  he  had  absorbed  so  covetously 
in  his  need  and  in  a  moment  of  generosity  he  refused  to 
part  the  veil. 

"  No,  I  do  not  want  to  see  it,  that  is  not  necessary," 
he  said  gently.  "  Do  what  you  wish.  If  you  can  help 
him,  do  so." 

"  He  wants  to  see  me.  He  is  very  down.  He 
needs  — "  she  stopped,  "  he  needs  help  so." 

She  again  extended  the  letter  to  him. 

"I  think  if  you  read  it  —  it  would  be  better.  You'd 
understand." 

"  I  understand,"  he  said  quietly,  "  I  am  at  a  point  in 
life  when  one  can  understand  such  things.  I  understand 
that  a  person  one  has  cared  for  cannot  possibly  pass  com 
pletely  out  of  your  life.  If  you  can  help  him  now,  do  so. 
I  think  that  will  make  you  happier,  won't  it?  " 

She  raised  her  eyes  suddenly  in  startled  inquiry. 


434  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

"You  mean  that?"  she  said  after  a  full  moment  of 
intense  absorption. 

"  I  mean  there  must  be  perfect  faith  between  us,"  he 
said  with  kindness. 

"  Thank  you,"  she  said,  but  so  low  that  it  was  almost 
a  whisper.  She  rose  very  straight  and  slender,  looking 
down  at  him.  "  I  shall  never  break  that  faith,  Mr.  Dan." 

The  ending  of  the  interview  left  them  with  a  feeling 
of  emptiness.  They  had  tried  to  face  the  issue  and  each 
had  instinctively  avoided  it  by  the  memory  of  the  old 
tenderness  which  lay  in  their  eyes  and  lingered  still  in  the 
echo  of  their  voices. 

"  Live  your  life,  Inga,"  he  said  impulsively,  "  in  what 
ever  way  it  must  be  lived  to  bring  you  happiness.  That 
is  the  least  I  can  do  for  you,  but  remember  one  thing  — 
what  you've  done  for  me  no  one  can  ever  undo.  No  one 
can  take  this  place  from  you  —  it's  yours." 

And  as  they  were  both  conscious  of  how  much  had  been 
left  unsaid,  how  much  still  waited  to  be  faced,  they 
swayed  towards  each  other,  tears  in  their  eyes,  and  clung 
to  each  other  passionately,  as  though  with  a  sudden  un 
quenchable  loneliness. 


XLVII 

WITH  the  first  exodus  of  the  summer  travelers  from 
the  city  a  new  spirit  of  work  possessed  Dangerfield. 
With  the  clearing  of  the  horizon  of  all  that  was  glitter 
ing  and  superficial,  the  city  with  its  great  sanity  and 
moving  vital  currents  returned  to  him.  He  put  off  his 
departure  for  the  country  from  month  to  month,  fasci 
nated  by  the  summer  moods  of  the  metropolis,  the  bril 
liance  on  the  Avenues,  the  extravagance  in  the  lighted 
air,  the  teeming  boisterous  sweltering  hordes  on  the 
beaches.  He  felt  himself  possessed  with  new  enthusi 
asms.  It  was  a  new  city  he  discovered,  the  city  of  the 
outer  air,  swept  together  in  a  friendlier  fraternity  by  the 
mutual  necessity  for  crowded  pleasure  after  the  long  day. 

In  these  ardent  excursions  he  gathered  around  him 
other  men,  younger  men,  ardent  disciples  who  wished  to 
see  what  he  saw,  men  interested  in  his  new  exposition  of 
the  treasures  of  beauty  near  at  hand. 

He  found  that  success  had  brought  him  this  —  that  iso 
lation  was  no  longer  possible.  The  world  paid  him  its 
full  tribute  but  claimed  him  for  its  own,  absorbing  him 
into  the  rank  and  file  of  its  groping  masses,  delegating  to 
him  his  servitude  of  leadership.  Yet  he  felt  a  certain 
content  in  fitting  into  the  procession.  The  believers  who 
surrounded  him,  communicated  to  him  a  certain  strength 
•which  surprised  him.  Perhaps  at  bottom  they  convinced 
him  of  his  power,  the  last  and  most  fleeting  sensation  of 
the  true  artist.  Then,  too,  he  found  that  in  expounding 
his  views  and  seeking  to  open  their  eyes  and  inspire  them, 
he  taught  himself,  translating  what  at  one  time  had  been 


436  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

pure  instinct  into  the  intellectual  possession  of  conscious 
knowledge. 

Tootles  was  usually  of  these  pilgrimages.  The  young 
fellow  had  steadied  amazingly  with  the  opportunity  of 
entering  the  privileged  gatherings.  He  had  begun  to  per 
ceive  that  beyond  all  the  fine  fervor  of  inspiration  and 
enthusiasm,  is  the  long  hard  routine  which  alone  can  bring 
self-satisfaction  in  the  knowledge  that  the  building  is  ris 
ing  on  a  firm  foundation.  He  had  a  quick  eye  and  a  gift 
of  absorbing  with  almost  the  imitativeness  of  a  monkey, 
conceptions  which  were  still  logically  beyond  him.  Yet 
there  was  no  doubt  of  his  earnestness.  As  a  sort  of  an 
nouncement  to  the  world  that  he  had  put  behind  youth 
ful  follies  he  even  allowed  his  face  to  be  disfigured  by  a 
scrubby  mustache, —  the  sort  of  sacrifice  a  young  doctor 
feels  called  upon  to  make  on  assuming  the  dignity  of  a 
practice. 

In  the  beginning  Inga  had  been  of  the  party  —  Dan- 
gerfield  was  always  eager  to  have  her  with  him  —  but 
gradually,  almost  imperceptibly,  she  had  dropped  out, 
giving  as  an  excuse  the  need  of  her  own  work.  On  his 
return  to  the  Arcade  he  found  her  installed  in  her  old 
studio.  The  first  afternoon  on  which  he  made  this  dis 
covery  he  had  gone  angrily  to  her  door,  so  profoundly 
hurt  by  her  action  that  for  the  first  time  he  was  in  a  mood 
for  reproaches.  He  found  her  busy  at  her  easel,  model 
on  the  stand.  He  stopped,  hesitated,  and  said  with  en 
forced  restraint: 

"  I  don't  want  to  interrupt  you.  When  you  are 
through  come  in,  there's  something  I  want  to  see  you 
about." 

"  Shall  I  come  now  ?  "  she  said  instantly,  observing 
and  perhaps  divining  the  reason  of  his  agitation. 

"  No,  no,"  he  said  hastily,  respecting  the  mood. 
"  After  working  hours,  not  before." 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  437 

He  crossed  to  his  own  studio,  rebelling  bitterly  at  the 
persistence  of  her  self-sacrifice.  But  providentially,  the 
model  he  had  engaged  was  already  waiting  for  him,  an 
old  toper,  scavenger  of  small  beers  and  wine  drippings 
from  the  fragrant  hogsheads  of  West  Franklin  Street, 
who  had  caught  his  fancy  the  day  before.  He  was  plac 
idly  asleep  in  a  sort  of  musty  drowsiness  and  he  did  not 
stir  at  Dangerfield's  entrance.  Something  grotesquely 
humorous  in  the  gourd-like  head,  sunk  in  childish  slum 
ber,  caught  his  imagination  immediately.  He  tiptoed 
over  to  his  easel,  brought  out  a  canvas  and  stealthily  pre 
pared  for  a  rapid  sketch.  At  the  noise  of  a  falling  tube 
the  blissful  Falstaff  slowly  opened  one  eye  and  prepared 
to  awake. 

"  Don't  move !  "  said  Dangerfield  hastily. 

"Eh?     What  you  mean?" 

"  Go  to  sleep  immediately,"  said  Dangerfield  sternly, 
too  interested  to  perceive  the  humor  of  the  situation. 

"  Sleep  ?  That  all  you  want  ?  "  said  the  amateur  with 
out  astonishment. 

"  Go  to  sleep  at  once, —  just  as  you  are,"  said  Danger- 
field,  with  the  voice  of  a  drill  master. 

His  sitter,  nothing  loth,  nodded  drowsily,  the  heavy 
lids  slowly  settled  against  the  bloated  cheek,  and  in  a 
moment  a  kettle-like  breathing  announced  that  he  had 
obeyed  to  the  letter. 

When,  an  hour  later,  Inga  came  in,  Dangerfield  sent 
her  a  warning  sign.  She  tiptoed  over  and  took  her  seat 
by  his  side,  waiting  quietly  until  another  half  hour  had 
brought  the  end  of  the  afternoon's  painting. 

The  model  gone,  Dangerfield,  all  else  forgotten,  stood 
eagerly  contemplating  the  little  masterpiece  which  a  for 
tunate  hazard  had  thrown  in  his  way. 

"  What  luck ! "  he  said  joyfully,  his  knuckles  pressed 
against  his  teeth  in  that  intimate  gesture  of  excitement 


438  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

\vhich  she  had  come  to  know  so  well.  "  The  beggar  was 
fast  asleep  dreaming  of  running  spigots  and  seas  of 
beer  when  I  came  in.  What  luck!  I  never  would  have 
gotten  this  in  the  world." 

"  It  is  you  at  your  best,"  she  said,  nodding  with  a 
pleased  smile.  "  By  the  way,  what  was  it  you  wanted  to 
see  me  about?  " 

He  looked  at  her,  suddenly  remembering,  surprised  at 
how  quickly  his  irritation  had  passed. 

"  Oh,  yes,  and  it's  very  serious,  too,"  he  said  hastily, 
and  then  in  order  to  reassemble  all  the  resentment  he  had 
felt  he  took  a  turn  or  two  about  the  room,  drew  off  his 
blouse  and  flung  it  viciously  across  the  room.  "  You 
know,  Inga,  I'm  very  angry  with  you." 

"Why?"  she  said  with  just  the  trace  of  a  smile. 

"  What  the  deuce  do  you  mean  by  going  back  to  your 
studio?  I  don't  like  it.  This  is  as  much  yours  as  it  is 
mine.  If  you  are  going  to  work,  work  here  with  me. 
You  always  used  to." 

"  Yes,  I  used  to,  but  that  was  different." 

"Why?" 

"  I  can  tell  you  now,"  she  said.  "  When  I  worked 
here,  it  was  to  help  you,  quiet  you,  because  you  needed  to 
have  me  near  you,  always  near  you, —  all  the  time." 

"  And  now  you've  made  up  your  mind  you'd  be  in  my 
way,"  he  said  irritably ;  "  that's  it,  that's  what  you  mean, 
isn't  it?" 

"  No,"  she  said,  shaking  her  head,  "  I  wasn't  thinking 
of  you;  I  was  thinking  of  myself." 

He  believed  this  an  evasion,  and  the  way  his  eyebrows 
came  together  in  the  old  bear-like  stare  plainly  showed  it. 

"  Inga,  is  that  the  truth?  " 

"  Yes,  it  is,"  she  said  in  her  low  musical  voice. 
"  What  we  do  is  so  different.  If  I  should  work  here 
with  you  I  should  be  overpowered  by  you.  I  must  get 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  439 

Iby  myself,  do  the  little  things  I  can  do.  Don't  you  under 
stand?" 

"  Is  that  the  effect  I  have  on  you  now  ?  "  he  said  slowly. 

"  If  I  tried  to  work  here  with  you  I  should  only  sit 
and  watch  what  you  are  doing,  and  I  want  to  work  —  I 
must  work,  for  myself!" 

"  I  misunderstood  you  then,"  he  said,  his  voice  return 
ing  to  gentleness.  "  Thought  you  were  thinking  of  me 
and  I  can't  bear  to  feel  that  you  are  always  making  the 
sacrifice." 

"  No,  no,  Mr.  Dan,"  she  said  hastily,  fingers  clutch 
ing  the  covering  of  the  table  against  which  she  stood,  "  I 
must  think  of  myself,  too,  don't  you  see?" 

"  Yes,  yes,  of  course,  dear,"  he  said  hastily.  He 
looked  at  her,  hesitated  and  once  more  they  retreated  be 
fore  the  issue  which  lay  implacably  ahead. 

Afterward  he  wondered  if  she  had  told  him  all  the 
truth,  if  his  own  needs  had  not  been  in  question  as  well 
as  her  own,  for  he  needed  the  privacy  of  his  own  room 
as  every  artist  beyond  the  intimacy  of  friendship  and  love 
must  retain  a  certain  sanctuary  of  isolation  where  he 
can  close  out  the  distracting,  intruding  world  and  reign 
as  absolute  lord  over  a  dominion  where  his  every  mood 
is  a  law. 

His  sense  of  loyalty  to  her  never  wavered.  The  world 
in  which  he  moved  was  a  world  of  workers.  The  rest  he 
persistently  shut  away,  resolutely  declining  all  invitations 
to  wander  back  along  pleasant  paths  that  opened  to  him 
at  every  point.  Where  she  could  not  go,  or  rather,  where 
she  would  not  wish  to  follow  him  he  refused  to  enter.  In 
fact  he  did  not  even  refer  to  the  multiplicity  of  invita 
tions  which  he  continuously  declined.  He  would  have 
been  very  much  surprised  indeed  had  he  suspected  how 
intuitively  she  had  divined  his  sacrifice.  A  great  gentle- 


440  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

ness  encompassed  them,  a  deference  toward  each  other 
that  had  about  it  the  tenderness  of  their  happiest  days, 
but  it  was  the  deference  of  strangers  towards  each  other. 
He  never  put  a  question  to  her,  he  never  asked  her  for  an 
account  of  her  days,  he  made  no  reference  to  the  man 
who  had  written  to  her  in  his  need  nor  sought  to  learn 
what  her  decision  had  been.  Once  when  she  started  to 
open  the  subject  he  stopped  her,  saying  gently : 

"  You  don't  need  to  give  me  any  explanations,  Inga. 
You  must  feel  this.  I  don't  want  you  to  change  your 
life  in  the  slightest  on  account  of  me.  For  the  rest,  I 
have  absolute  faith  in  you." 

But  from  day  to  day  he  watched  her  —  wondering. 

Meanwhile  in  the  ordinary  routine  of  the  Arcade  an 
event  had  happened  which  threw  the  inhabitants  of  the 
sixth  floor  into  a  flurry  of  astonishment. 

Without  the  slightest  warning,  out  of  a  clear  sky,  King 
O'Leary's  wife  turned  up.  She  was  a  frail,  rather 
tired,  rather  bored  little  woman  who  vouchsafed  not  the 
slightest  explanation  but  came  back  weak  and  discouraged 
to  be  taken  care  of.  Which  was  exactly  the  thing  King 
O'Leary  did,  with  a  shrug  of  his  shoulders,  despite  the 
protestations  of  all  his  friends. 

"  I'm  down  and  out,  King/'  she  said,  by  way  of  ex 
cuse.  "  You're  the  only  real  man  I  know.  I  haven't  no 
right,  but  —  if  you  don't  take  care  of  me,  it's  all  over." 

He  looked  at  her  and  the  illusion  which  had  lived  in 
his  heart  through  all  the  years  suddenly  snapped.  She 
meant  nothing  to  him  now,  could  mean  nothing,  but  she 
had  been  a  part  of  his  youth. 

"Well,  I  guess  you're  still  Mrs.  O'Leary,"  he  said 
slowly,  "  and  if  there's  no  one  else  to  see  you've  got  a 
roof  over  your  head,  I  guess  it's  up  to  me.  That's  law 
and  that's  religion." 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  441 

She  broke  down  and  wept  at  this,  which  annoyed  him 
more  than  her  return.  But  in  a  day  she  recovered  her 
spirits  and  seemed  to  be  thoroughly  content  to  be  loung 
ing  about  the  studios,  smoking  endless  cigarettes,  slum 
bering  through  the  day  time  and  waking  to  laughter  and 
boisterousness  at  night.  He  installed  her  in  the  room 
that  had  been  Myrtle  Popper's,  and  probably  gave  her 
generously  of  his  savings  for  she  appeared  in  several  new 
dresses  of  a  rather  Oriental  suggestion. 

During  these  weeks  a  cloud  hung  over  the  face  of  King 
O'Leary  and  all  his  usual  good  humor  fled.  He  was  ir 
ritable,  resented  the  slightest  expression  of  friendliness 
of  his  old  associates  to  such  an  extent  that  they  hardly 
dared  note  his  coming  and  going.  For  this  the  cause 
was  evident.  The  attitude  of  his  wife  had  become  that 
of  a  petty  tyrant.  Knowing  the  extent  of  his  pride  and 
the  depth  of  his  chivalry,  she  seemed  to  take  a  malicious 
pleasure  in  tormenting  him  before  others,  snapping  him 
up  at  the  slightest  opportunity,  lecturing  him,  seizing 
every  chance  to  turn  him  into  ridicule  with  such  per 
sistent  vindictiveness  that  his  friends  wondered  how  he 
managed  to  hold  himself  in. 

Then  one  day,  as  suddenly  as  she  had  come,  she  disap 
peared,  taking  with  her  all  of  her  belongings  and  in  addi 
tion  one  or  two  other  small  objects  which  had  pleased 
her  fancy,  leaving  behind  her  the  following  note  scrawled 
on  a  stray  leaf  of  paper,  pinned  to  O'Leary's  pillow : 

KING: 

I'm  a  thorough  little  beast  and  you  are  as  fine  as  they  make 
them.  I  won't  bother  you  any  more,  I  promise  you  that. 
You've  been  so  decent  I'm  going  to  tell  you  the  truth.  I'm 
no  more  your  wife  than  Belle  Shaler.  I  got  a  divorce  three 
years  ago  down  in  California.  When  I  get  hold  of  my  papers 
I'll  send  you  the  decree.  I  thought  at  first  you  knew  and  then 
I  made  up  my  mind  to  work  you  for  a  good  thing  but  you're 
too  damned  decent  for  that.  I'm  not  making  apologies  —  it's 


442  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

not  my  way.  You're  one  of  the  best,  King,  and  the  only  good 
thing  I  ever  did  for  you  was  to  leave  you.  Good  luck  and 
good-by. 

LULU. 


XLVIII 

THE  first  boisterous  winds  of  Autumn  had  come  to  end 
the  stagnation  of  summer  when  one  day  in  the  full  midst 
of  the  afternoon's  work  Inga  came  into  the  studio  where 
Dangerfield  was  singing  gorgeously  to  himself  in  the  boy 
ish  zest  of  his  work. 

"  Hello,"  he  said,  looking  up,  surprised  at  this  early 
entrance.  "Nothing  doing  this  afternoon?" 

"  I  finished  sooner  than  I  expected,"  she  said  evasively, 
"  and  it  was  very  bad.  I  want  to  watch  you." 

"  All  righty,  I'll  try  to  perform." 

But  something  in  the  gravity  of  her  look  made  him 
turn  abruptly  and  study  her  with  a  sudden  presentiment. 
She  seemed  unconscious  of  his  scrutiny  even  when  from 
time  to  time  he  turned  in  her  direction  with  rising  won 
der.  She  sat  just  behind  him  so  as  to  command  both 
the  model  and  the  canvas,  her  chin  on  the  back  of  her 
hands,  her  body  sunk  in  the  depths  of  an  armchair,  her 
glance  set  in  revery  before  her. 

A  vague  sense  of  uneasiness  crept  over  him,  something 
which  sent  to  flight  all  the  playfulness  and  the  joy  which 
had  been  in  his  heart.  He  could  not  quite  account  for 
this  sudden  shadow  which  seemed  to  obsess  the  room. 
He  had  seen  her  often  in  such  profound  moods  and  yet 
there  was  something  indefinable  in  the  solemnity  of  her 
pose,  in  the  set  purpose  of  her  eyes  which  warned  him. 

He  started  to  whistle  and  stopped.  He  tried  to  return 
into  the  flowing  impulse  of  the  moment  before,  and  felt  a 
sudden  unutterable  distaste,  a  resentment  against  himself 
find  the  thing  he  was  creating.  The  brushes  in  his  hand 


444  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

were  heavy,  his  arm  itself  weighted  down  by  some  un 
seen  load.  Something  began  to  race  in  his  heart  and  to 
quicken  every  nerve. 

'  That  will  do  for  to-day,"  he  said,  dropping  his  brushes 
suddenly.  "  I'll  let  you  know  when  I  want  you.  Take 
your  things  and  go." 

The  moments  until  they  were  alone  seemed  intermin 
ably  long  and  cruel.  He  jerked  the  canvas  from  its 
easel  and  set  it  in  the  corner  without  a  second  look, 
stripped  off  his  blouse  and  went  hurriedly  to  the  wash- 
stand  to  plunge  into  soap  and  water.  When  he  came 
back,  drying  his  arms,  the  little  model,  a  waif  from  the 
West  side,  was  ready,  waiting  for  the  day's  pay.  He 
paid  him  twice  over,  with  that  instinct  of  weakness  be 
fore  destiny  which  is  inherent  in  the  superstition  of  man, 
silenced  his  thanks  and  sent  him  out. 

^  Then  he  came  and  stood  in  front  of  her  chair.  She 
did  not  appear  to  notice  him,  sitting  in  the  same  rigid 
pose,  the  same  unseeing  stare  in  her  eyes.  He  watched 
her,  baffled  as  always  by  the  veiled  depths  of  those  eyes 
into  which  he  had  searched  so  often,  only  to  lose  him 
self  in  confusion. 
"  Inga." 

Her  glance  came  back  slowly  —  was  it  from  the  future 
or  from  out  the  past?  She  saw  him,  rose  slowly  and  laid 
her  hand  upon  his  arm  almost  as  though  swaying  against 
him  for  support 

"  Just  a  moment,"  she  said,  with  a  long  breath. 
^While  he  waited,  she  went  past  him  to  the  window 
where  she  stood  half  turned  from  him,  a  free  and  slender 
line  against  the  white  of  the  outer  day.     He  followed 
until  he  stood  just  behind  her,  waiting  for  her  to  speak. 
1  You  know  what  it  is,  don't  you?"  she  said  at  last 
but  without  turning  towards  him. 

"  No,"  he  said,  and  yet  at  the  first  sound  of  her  voice 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  445 

he  knew.  The  moment  has  come,  which  he  had  known 
for  months  must  arrive. 

"  Do  you  remember  what  we  said  to  each  other  here 
once?"  she  began,  but  with  much  hesitation, —  the 
promise  you  gave  me." 

"  What  promise?  "  he  said  mechanically. 

"  You  said  — "  She  stopped,  turned  towards  him  and 
tried  to  lift  her  eyes  to  his. 

"  Come,  Inga,"  he  said,  "  what's  got  to  be  said  must 
be  said.  You've  known  that  all  along  and  so  have  I." 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  she  said,  but  her  eyes  dropped  down 
and  her  hands  came  together  in  a  straining  nervous 
clasp. 

"  You  mean,  then,"  he  said,  "  the  time  has  come  when 
you  want  to  go  out  of  my  life.  Is  that  what  you're  try 
ing  to  tell  me,  Inga  ?  " 

She  raised  her  eyes  again  and  again,  her  glance  fled 
from  his,  but  she  nodded  her  head  twice  in  silent  acqui 
escence. 

"Oh,  Inga!" 

He  had  known  it  for  weeks  and  yet  now  that  it  lay 
between  them  immutably  written,  forever  fixed  by  the 
nod  of  her  head,  he  felt  dazed  by  the  suddenness  of  the 
blow.  He  caught  her  up  to  him,  crushing  her  in  his  arms 
and  what  he  said  to  her  in  the  wild  unreasoning  phrases 
that  came  pouring  from  his  lips  he  did  not  know,  only 
that  for  the  moment,  faced  with  the  sudden  ache  of  part 
ing,  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  loved  her  completely,  abso 
lutely,  deliriously,  as  he  had  never  loved  her  before. 

She  neither  tried  to  check  nor  to  answer  him.  Her 
head  lay  weakly  on  his  shoulder,  powerless  against  his 
strength,  and  when  again  he  regained  his  calm  he  saw  the 
tracks  of  tears  across  her  face. 

"  Inga,"  he  said  angrily,  catching  hold  of  her  wrists, 
clutching  them  until  they  must  have  hurt  her,  "  you're 


446  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

not  going  to  do  this,  you  understand  ?  It's  not  going  to 
end  this  way.  I  won't  have  it !  " 

"  I  want  to  talk  to  you/'  she  said,  shrinking  back. 

He  stopped,  walked  away  from  her,  buried  his  head 
in  his  hands,  and  gradually  fought  his  way  back  to  self- 
control  again. 

"  I  want  to  talk  to  you,"  she  repeated,  helplessly. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  he  said,  with  a  sudden  feeling  of  contri 
tion  for  the  intemperance  of  the  emotion  which  had  car 
ried  him  away.  "  I  am  sorry,  I  couldn't  help  it.  Let's 
talk  to  each  other,  then,  but  facing  things  as  they  are, 
as  we  should  have  talked  to  each  other  long  ago." 

"Oh,  yes  — please." 

All  at  once  a  presentiment  of  the  finality  of  her  deci 
sion  came  over  him  and  with  it  a  longing  to  preserve  this 
one  spot  so  garnished  with  the  memories  of  what  they 
had  been  to  each  other,  free  from  the  memory  of  what 
might  come  between  them. 

"  Very  well,"  he  said,  "  but  not  here.  I  don't  want  — 
you  understand  —  not  here,  Inga." 

"  I  understand,"  she  said,  and  without  looking  at  him 
moved  over  to  the  door. 

He  joined  her  and  because  they  did  not  wish  any  one 
to  see  their  faces  at  that  moment  they  did  not  call  the 
elevator,  but  went  slowly  and  darkly  down  the  stone 
descent.  In  the  street  he  held  out  his  arm  to  her  with  a 
longing  to  feel  again  the  intimate  clinging  pressure  of 
her  body. 

"  Take  my  arm,"  he  said. 

She  hesitated  and  then  slipped  her  hand  into  its  pro 
tection  and  thus  they  returned  to  their  apartment. 

When  they  had  come  into  these  outer  surroundings 
which  represented  all  that  was  recent  in  their  existence 
together,  he  felt  that  not  only  outwardly  but  inwardly, 
they  had  passed  from  one  life  into  another.  He  saw  all 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  447 

at  once  what  he  had  refused  to  see  —  how  utterly  out 
of  place  she  was  against  the  formal  correctness  of  his 
new  home,  this  gilded  cage  into  which  he  had  imprisoned 
her,  and  perceiving  this,  all  at  once  he  felt,  too,  how  help 
less  he  would  be  before  the  logic  of  her  plea, 

A  moment  before,  under  the  spell  of  the  old  haunts, 
he  had  been  for  the  moment  the  Dangerfield  of  the  past, 
the  man  who  had  come  into  her  life  as  life  was  natural 
and  instinctive  to  her.  Now  he  was  suddenly  aware  of 
all  the  difference  that  lay  between  them,  of  the  far  poles 
of  society  from  which  they  had  started  on  their  groping 
journeys  for  one  moment  of  which  destiny  had  brought 
them  together.  He  took  her  things  from  her  as  defer 
entially  as  though  it  had  been  for  the  first  time,  and 
going  into  the  hall  rang  for  the  butler  and  sent  him  away. 
Even  this  action,  instinctive  in  his  training,  showed  him 
the  division  between  them.  She  would  never  have 
thought  of  this. 

He  came  back  to  her  and  with  a  sudden  wave  of  gentle 
ness  laid  his  hand  on  her  shoulder. 

"  Inga,  I  know  that  this  is  hard  for  you,"  he  said,  "  I 
won't  lose  control  of  myself  again.  Now  let's  under 
stand  each  other.  When  man  and  woman  have  been  to 
each  other  what  we  have  been,  something  remains  which 
can  never  completely  pass  away.  You  feel  that,  don't 
you?" 

She  nodded. 

"We  could  never  do  anything  to  hurt  each  other  — 
consciously  do  it.  I  am  ready  to  do  anything  that  you 
feel  you  need.  Now  that  the  air  is  clear,  let's  say  what 
we  think.  We  have  tried  so  often  and  failed.  It  is  my 
fault,  for  I  have  known  for  a  long  while  that  you  have 
been  unhappy." 

"  No,  Mr.  Dan,"  she  said,  gently,  "  not  unhappy.  I 
have  been,  well  —  just  lost." 


448  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

"  I  don't  quite  understand  that,"  he  said,  sitting  down 
beside  her,  so  close  that  their  knees  brushed  one  an 
other's,  their  heads  almost  touching.  He  took  her  hands 
in  his. 

"Yet  it  isn't  anything  that  I  have  done,  is  it?  I 
haven't  hurt  you  ?  " 

She  shook  her  head  slowly  and  tried  to  smile. 

"  Oh,  no,  you  couldn't.  You've  done  more  than  you 
should.  I  have  known  that." 

"  That  isn't  true,"  he  said,  firmly.  "  I  haven't  made 
one  sacrifice  or  given  up  a  single  thing  I  wanted  on  your 
account." 

"  Please,  Mr.  Dan  —  oh,  please.  You  said  it.  We 
must  tell  each  other  the  truth ! "  she  said,  with  a  sudden 
intensity.  From  this  moment  all  indecision  passed  from 
her,  as  though  she  had  finally  dried  the  one  rebellious 
tear  which  had  come  uncontrollably  to  her  eyes. 

:<  This  is  the  truth,"  he  said,  with  an  attempt  at  open 
ness.  "  If  it  were  not  for  you  —  not  because  I  should 
be  afraid  for  you,  but  because  I  know  you  would  hate  the 
life,  I  might  drift  back  into  a  certain  purely  formal  so 
ciety  that  once  made  up  my  life.  But  what  would  that 
mean  to  me?  Absolutely  nothing.  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
it  might  represent  a  danger.  It  is  hard  to  seek  out  the 
world  without  being  in  the  end  a  slave  to  it  so  that,  don't 
you  see  —  and  I've  been  absolutely  honest  —  what  you 
might  think  I've  done  for  you,  is  really  the  thing  I  should 
do  for  myself." 

She  did  not  answer,  but  sat  considering  what  he  had 
said,  turning  it  over  from  every  angle  as  women  do,  seek 
ing  the  chain  of  motives  and  the  reasons  which  it  might 
reveal. 

Seeing  her  indecision  he  believed  that  he  had  found 
the  reason  of  her  renunciation. 

"Inga,  why  always  sacrifice  yourself,  always  think  of 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  449 

"  For  that  at  the  bottom  is  what  it 
is.  There's  something  rigid  and  cold  about  it  which  is 
like  the  country  you  come  from.  You  want  to  go  out 
of  my  life  because  you  think  that  that  act  will  set  me 
free.  You  rebel  because  you  think  I  am  held  to  you  by 
a  sense  of  loyalty  and  gratitude.  Now  listen.  You  may 
think  that  another  woman  may  come  into  my  life,  a 
woman  brought  up  in  the  superficial  life  which  I  have 
known.  You're  utterly  and  absolutely  wrong  and  the 
trouble  is  you  undervalue  yourself.  There's  no  other 
woman  —  there  can  be  no  other  woman  in  my  life. 
What  you  are  to  me  is  absolutely  what  I  need,  the  com 
panionship  above  all  others." 

She  turned  and  looked  at  him  with  an  expression  so 
inscrutable  that  he  felt  uncomfortable  beneath  this  chal 
lenge  as  though  he  were  guilty  of  some  evasion  and  had 
been  caught  in  the  act. 

"  Why  do  you  look  at  me  like  that?  "  he  said,  uneasily. 

"  Mr.  Dan,"  she  said,  impulsively,  "  don't  you  see  the 
truth  —  it's  not  you  I  am  thinking  of!  It's  myself,  my 
life." 

"  What ! "  he  said,  completely  thrown  off  his  guard. 
"  But  Inga,  doesn't  it  mean  something  to  be  my  wife,  to 
share  in  my  success,  to  feel  that  you  have  done  it  all? 
Isn't  that  a  triumph  for  you?  Isn't  that  sufficient? 
Doesn't  that  thrill  you  ?  " 

"  No,"  she  said  quietly;  "  all  that  means  nothing." 

He  looked  at  her  helplessly,  feeling  as  though  he  had 
offered  everything  he  had  to  offer  and  had  finally  lost. 

"  It's  strange  that  you  don't  understand,"  she  said, 
pensively,  "  for  you  understand  so  many  things,  you  have 
such  a  big  way  of  looking  at  life." 

He  rose  and  sat  down  again  abruptly. 

"  We  are  beating  about  the  bush,  we  are  coming  to  no 
where,  Inga,"  he  said  desperately.  "  There's  another 


450  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

man  come  into  your  life  who  means  more  to  you  than  I 
do.  You  want  to  go  to  him,  isn't  that  it?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  I  gave  you  my  promise  to  free  you,  I  shall  keep  it,'' 
he  said,  though  the  words  were  hard  to  bring  forth. 

"And  you  —  you  understand?"  she  asked,  gently. 

"  I  shall  try  to  understand."  Then  despite  himself  he 
broke  into  a  laugh,  a  bitter  echo  of  the  mocking  laughter 
of  the  past.  "Understand?  No,  no,  I  shall  never  un 
derstand  you !  " 

"  Perhaps  I  can  make  you,"  she  began.  Then  she 
drew  in  her  under  lip,  pressing  her  sharp  little  teeth 
against  it  till  the  blood  surged  around  them. 

"  Mr.  Dan,  I  do  care  for  you,  and  if  you  ever  needed 
me,  as  you  did  once,  I  would  have  to  come  to  you,  no 
matter  where  I  was  or  what  else  was  in  my  life.  I  mean 
it.  But  I  have  never  really  belonged  to  your  life. 
There's  all  the  difference  in  the  world  between  us,  you 
know  it  and  I  know  it.  That's  why  I  didn't  want  to 
marry  you.  And  you  know  it  now,  too,  you  feel  it  the 
moment  I  come  here  into  this  room.  Only  you  are  very 
loyal,  very  kind  and  very  generous,  but  it  is  so." 

"  It  wasn't  always  so,"  he  cried  impulsively,  and  then 
suddenly  stopped,  realizing  what  the  admission  had  been. 

"  I  belonged  to  you  but  I  don't  belong  to  your  life.  I 
can't.  I  don't  want  to,  Mr.  Dan,  it  bores  me.  You  don't 
know  how  completely  lonely  I  have  been." 

"  Inga,"  he  said,  interrupting  her,  "  it  isn't  entirely 
that.  You,  too,  are  not  telling  the  whole  truth.  Per 
haps  I  understand  you  in  this  better  than  you  do  yourself. 
Frankly,  you  are  not  interested  in  me  any  more." 

"  What  do  you  mean?  " 

"You  are  not  interested,"  he  said,  quietly,  as  though 
for  the  first  time  he  were  capable  of  standing  apart  and 
judging  themselves  impartially,  "  because  you've  finished 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  451 

your  task,  because  there's  nothing  more  for  you  to  do." 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Dan,  there  is  nothing  more  for  me  to  do," 
she  said,  sadly.  "  I  can't  give  you  anything  more.  I 
don't  count.  And  the  truth  is,  we're  just  good  friends. 
I  suppose  other  marriages  are  happy  like  that.  It  is 
killing  me." 

"  It  seems  strange,"  he  continued,  staring  at  her,  "  that 
there  should  be  so  little  vanity  in  you.  Other  women 
would  feel  a  sense  of  pride,  of  possession,  of  parading 
what  they  had  accomplished,  but  not  you.  You  were 
happiest,  you  only  really  loved  me  when  I  was  trembling 
on  the  edge  of  the  gutter,  when  you  were  the  last  hold 
which  held  me  back,  and  now  you  miss  that,  you  miss  the 
dramatic  side  of  it,  the  struggle,  the  tremendous  tax  on 
every  nerve  of  your  body,  on  every  shred  of  your  will. 
You've  won  out,  you've  made  me  and  now  I  no  longer 
interest  you.  You  miss  the  struggle." 

"  Oh,  it  is  not  simply  that  I  miss  it,"  she  cried,  pas 
sionately;  "  it's  that  I  must  have  it.  I'm  that  way,  it's 
my  happiness.  I  should  stifle  if  there  was  nothing  in 
life  for  me  to  do." 

"  I  do  not  say  it  in  bitterness,"  said  Dangerfield,  "  I 
am  not  bitter.  I  know  now  that  you  must  follow  your 
instinct  and  between  the  other  man  and  myself  you  must 
go  to  the  one  who  needs  you  now,  as  I  used  to  need  you, 
isn't  that  so?" 

"  Yes,  he  needs  me,"  she  said.  She  rose  and  uncon 
sciously  a  little  light,  a  fierce  maternal  craving  came  into 
her  face  and  touched  her  eyes,  a  light  that  hurt  him. 
"  I  have  waited  until  I  was  sure.  He  doesn't  know  that 
I  will  come." 

"  I  only  hope  he  is  worth  the  giving,"  said  Dangerfield, 
abruptly.  Of  all  the  other  emotions,  jealousy,  passion, 
gratitude,  loyalty,  only  one  remained,  a  feeling  of  great 
tenderness,  of  almost  paternal  solicitude. 


452  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

"  He  has  wonderful  things  in  him,  too,"  she  said, 
"  that  must  be  saved,  that  I'm  going  to  fight  for." 

Then  a  silence  fell  between  them  as  they  stood  facing 
each  other,  knowing  that  all  had  been  said  between  them, 
each  suddenly  shy  and  embarrassed. 

"  You  have  been  very  kind  to  me,  Mr.  Dan.  There 
are  things  I  can  never  forget."  She  stopped,  put  out 
her  hand  to  his  and  said,  "  and  I  am  glad  now  that  you 
had  your  way,  that  you  made  me  marry  you." 

"  I  can't  say  anything,"  he  said.  He  took  her  in  his 
arms  gently,  as  though  she  had  been  a  fragile  flower, 
her  head  against  his  head  while  the  tears  from  their 
eyes  ran  together  on  their  cheeks,  trembling  against  each 
other  as  those  who  have  loved  passionately,  love  again  at 
the  final  parting. 


AFTERWORD 

THE  little  fraternity  in  the  Arcade  broke  up  gradually, 
after  one  more  dramatic  interruption.  The  baron,  whose 
health  had  faded  rapidly  in  the  last  months,  was  gradu 
ally  confined  to  his  room,  where  Pansy  came  each  day 
to  watch  over  him  with  the  tenderness  of  a  daughter. 
Twice  Drinkwater  attempted  to  follow  his  wife  into  the 
intimacy  of  the  room  but  each  time  the  intrusion  roused 
such  a  tempest  of  fury  in  Mr.  Cornelius  that  he  actually 
drew  a  pistol  and  threatened  to  shoot  him,  and  the  law 
yer  retreated  precipitately.  Of  Drinkwater's  assiduous 
curiosity  and  the  plan  of  blackmail  which  had  long  ma 
tured  in  his  crafty  mind,  Pansy  had  not  the  slightest  sus 
picion,  as  was  afterwards  evident.  Of  all  who  had  won 
dered  at  the  lawyer's  impulsive  marriage  with  the  girl 
who  had  won  Mr.  Cornelius'  confidence,  the  baron  alone 
divined  the  reasons  for  his  action.  His  hatred  for 
Drinkwater  was  something  uncontrollable  and  terrifying 
in  its  rage.  The  resemblance  of  Pansy  to  the  baron,  so 
marked  in  the  upward  lift  of  the  right  eyebrow,  the 
lustrous  black  of  the  eyes  and  the  faint  similarity  of  the 
profile,  coupled  with  the  affection  the  old  man  had  shown 
to  her  alone,  had  suggested  a  scheme  of  blackmail  to 
Drinkwater's  fertile  imagination.  At  the  death  of  Mr. 
Cornelius  he  had  planned  to  claim  that  Pansy  was  his 
true  daughter,  and  through  threats  of  scandal  to  force  a 
settlement  from  the  estate.  For  this  purpose  he  had  even 
insinuated  the  belief  into  the  imagination  of  the  girl  — 
who  however  was  quite  guiltless  in  the  attempt  that  fol 
lowed, 


454  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

To  bolster  up  his  scheme,  it  became  necessary  for 
Drinkwater  to  procure  first  the  knowledge  of  the  baron's 
real  name  and  second  some  intimate  relics  which  would 
carry  conviction.  To  this  end  he  had  sought  vainly  an 
opportunity  to  force  the  lock  of  the  great  chest,  which  he 
rightly  guessed  held  the  secrets  he  coveted.  As  a  mat 
ter  of  fact,  it  is  quite  possible  that  desiring  what  he  did 
so  ardently,  Drinkwater  had  actually  been  able  to  con 
vince  himself  that  Pansy  was  in  truth  what  he  intended 
to  claim.  The  declining  health  of  Mr.  Cornelius  and 
his  own  failure  to  gain  admittance  as  a  friend,  un 
doubtedly  impelled  him  to  the  rash  act  which  brought  so 
fatal  a  termination.  By  some  means  or  other  he  had 
procured  a  key  to  the  door  and  one  evening  when  the  in 
habitants  of  the  floor  were  gathered  in  O'Leary's  studio 
feting  Tootles'  birthday,  he  succeeded  in  making  his  en 
trance  into  the  baron's  room.  Some  abiding  suspicion 
must  have  crossed  Mr.  Cornelius'  mind  for  without  ex 
planation  he  was  seen  to  leave  in  the  middle  of  the  party. 
A  minute  later  a  sudden  outcry  and  the  sound  of  a  pistol 
shot  sent  them  rushing  down  the  hall.  In  the  center  of 
the  room  Mr.  Cornelius  was  standing,  pistol  in  hand, 
swaying  against  the  back  of  a  chair  which  had  caught  his 
weight  and  by  the  chest,  which  had  been  pried  open,  still 
grasping  a  locket,  was  the  body  of  Drinkwater,  quite 
dead. 

The  baron  did  not  long  survive  him.  The  shock  and 
the  memory  sent  him  into  a  raging  fever,  and  the  end 
came  a  week  later.  Every  clue  to  his  past  was  carefully 
removed  by  Dangerfield,  acting  under  instructions,  who 
transferred  the  chest  to  the  control  of  the  lawyers. 
Only  a  few  personal  effects,  a  few  books  and  the  portrait 
of  the  woman  who  had  meant  the  whole  of  life  —  heaven 
and  hell  —  in  his  romantic  tragic  career,  remained  at  the 
end.  The  few  reporters  who  came  in  avidly  scenting  a 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  455 

story  drew  fanciful  pictures  of  this  inexplicable  ending, 
stories  that  had  a  remembered  touch  of  Alexander 
Dumas  —  though  one  or  two  guesses  came  near  the  truth. 
The  death  of  Drinkwater  seemed  to  aftect  Pansy-  but 
little,  strong  as  had  been  his  almost  hypnotic  control 
over  her  during  his  lifetime.  She  went  back  into  the 
old  partnership  with  Belle  Shaler,  neither  richer  nor 
poorer,  a  little  dazed  but  incapable  of  deeper  emotions. 

After  this  tragic  interruption,  the  floor  seemed  to  dis 
integrate  all  at  once.  Tootles  went  off  to  Paris  for 
further  study,  thanks  to  Dangerfield,  who  sent  him  as 
a  sort  of  tribute  to  the  past,  the  one  touch  of  generosity 
permitted  him.  King  O'Leary  ended  by  marrying  Mil 
lie  Brewster  and  went  with  her  roving  down  into  Central 
America,  where,  thanks  to  her  practical  ambitions,  he 
found  opportunities  and  began  to  make  his  way.  Flick 
remained  of  the  fraternity  of  Bohemia,  never  at  loss  to 
turn  a  quick  dollar,  incapable  of  saving  one,  wandering 
through  many  trades,  always  on  the  point  of  discovering 
the  sudden  road  to  fortune,  always  awaking  in  a  garret, 
nor  being  greatly  depressed  by  the  failure. 

Schneibel  and  Miss  Quirley  drew  back  into  their  re 
spective  shells.  Other  tenants  succeeded  to  the  sixth 
floor  but  the  association  which  had  been  begun  with  the 
arrival  of  King  O'Leary  and  Dangerfield  was  never  re 
sumed. 

And  what  of  Inga?  Despite  her  explanations,  she  re 
mained  as  great  a  mystery  to  Dangerfield  as  on  the  first 
wild  night  when  he  had  opened  his  eyes  to  find  her  in 
his  studio  in  self-assumed  command  of  his  destiny.  De 
spite  his  pleadings  and  remonstrances  she  had  refused 
to  take  from  him  the  slightest  assistance.  Free  she  had 
always  been  and  free  she  remained  to  come  and  go. 

That  she  had  loved  him  and  still  loved  him  he  knew, 
for  on  the  rare  occasions  when  they  passed  each  other  in 


456  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

the  crowd,  her  eyes  showed  that  she  still  remembered. 
Yet  was  this  love  as  deep  and  encompassing  as  her  im 
pulse  towards  the  other  man?  And  what  part  had  he 
played  in  her  life,  in  both  their  lives? 

Luigi  Champeno  he  met  once,  two  years  after  her  mar 
riage  to  him,  at  the  opening  of  the  fall  academy,  where 
two  groups  by  the  young  sculptor  were  the  eyes  of  the 
exhibition,  for  their  uncanny  originality,  a  daring  repre 
sentation  of  the  squalor  of  a  crowded  tenement  stoop  in 
which,  curiously  enough,  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  found 
traits  of  his  own  way  of  looking  at  things. 

The  meeting  had  been  accidental,  the  introduction  un 
avoidable.  He  had  given  his  hand  with  a  feeling  of 
deepest  kindness,  strongly  stirred,  at  the  sight  of  Inga,  at 
the  somberness  and  poverty  of  her  dress,  divining  all  the 
struggle  and  the  happiness  that  it  revealed. 

Only  a  few  words  were  said  and  those  quite  inconse 
quential.  In  the  eyes  of  the  young  man  he  had  seen  the 
sudden  leap  of  hatred  and  animal  jealousy  which  once, 
he  remembered,  had  torn  his  soul  in  shreds  in  the  days 
of  his  own  infatuation.  That  Champeno  adored  her  with 
a  clinging  idolatrous  faith  was  evident.  Dangerfield  had 
looked  eagerly  at  Inga,  into  the  sea-blue  eyes,  seeking 
some  clue  there  of  regret,  of  complaint,  of  renewed  tri 
umph  or  of  restlessness,  but  her  eyes  as  always  retained 
their  veil.  He  could  divine  nothing. 

Yet  of  the  man  himself  he  retained  a  singularly  illu 
minating  memory,  an  impression  of  a  morose  and  tor 
tured  child,  of  violent  moods  and  moral  weakness, —  a 
precocious  child  tortured  by  a  spark  of  genius,  utterly 
undisciplined  and  untamed,  incapable  of  standing  alone. 

"  The  battle  there  will  never  be  won,"  he  thought,  with 
a  sudden  comprehension,  and  he  added  with  a  little  touch 
of  poignant  regret,  "  and  he  will  adore  her  fiercely,  tyran 
nically  as  I  never  could." 


THE  WOMAN  GIVES  457 

The  answer  to  many  perplexities  seemed  to  be  there. 
Inga  had  adored  him  and  by  the  other  she  had  been 
adored.  With  him  her  reason  for  existing  had  been  ac 
complished,  with  the  other  it  could  never  end.  With 
him  she  had  never  quite  been  herself,  conscious  of  in 
tangible  social  demarcations,  while  with  Champeno  she 
went  arm  in  arm,  child  of  the  people  to  the  last. 

He  moved  over  to  where  De  Gollyer  was  standing  in 
critical  admiration  before  the  exhibit  of  the  young  sculp 
tor  which  had  attracted  general  enthusiasm.  It  was  a 
group  of  immigrants,  mother  and  babe,  with  children 
clutching  at  her  skirts,  marooned  on  a  flight  of  stairs, 
looking  hopelessly  out  on  the  sea  of  New  York;  power 
fully  repulsive,  startling  in  its  fidelity,  revolutionary  but 
convincing. 

"  What  puzzles  you?  "  he  asked. 

"  My  boy,  it  has  a  suggestion  of  you,"  said  De  Gollyer, 
with  his  head  on  one  side.  "Fact  —  reminds  me  of 
things  you've  done." 

"  You  think  so  ?  "  he  said,  surprised  that  his  friend 
had  noticed  what  he  had  felt  at  the  first  glance. 

"  It's  strong  —  best  thing  in  years.  The  boy's  got  it 
fairly,"  said  De  Gollyer,  "  came  out  of  the  slums  him 
self  ;  the  iron  and  the  gall  are  there.  There's  a  story  he 
started  in  an  East  Side  gang  and  was  railroaded  up  to  the 
reformatory  for  a  year.  Probably  fiction.  But  he's 
felt  what  he's  crying  out  to  us.  No  mistake  about  that. 
And  yet,  Dan,  if  you'd  signed  it  I  shouldn't  have  been 
surprised." 

Dangerfield  didn't  reply.  He  was  staring  at  the 
strangely  revealing  group,  wondering  what  else  she  had 
taken  out  of  his  life  to  give  to  the  other. 

He  never  remarried.  He  did  big  things.  It  is  true 
he  just  missed  the  final  enduring  touch  of  genius,  but  it 
is  doubtful  if  he  himself  realized  it,  nor  what  he  might 


458  THE  WOMAN  GIVES 

have  been  if  Inga  had  not  left  him  and  the  world  made 
him  its  hero  and  its  slave.  For  his  own  day,  he  was 
master  and  leader.  For  whatever  the  judgment  of  pos 
terity  may  be,  as  De  Gollyer  was  wont  to  remark :  "  It 
is  better  to  die  as  Sheridan  than  to  die  as  Shakespeare, 
for  Shakespeare  never  knew." 

The  world  naturally  completely  misjudged  Dangerfield. 
In  his  career  they  saw  nothing  but  the  oft  repeated  story 
of  devouring  genius ;  the  man  growing  beyond  the  woman 
who  had  regenerated  him  and  sacrificing  her  once  he  has 
arrived.  Dangerfield  himself  was  aware  of  this  hostile 
attitude  but  he  never  sought  to  explain  it  away.  De  Goll 
yer,  it  is  true,  told  his  version  of  the  romance  in  strictest 
confidence  to  a  multitude  of  friends,  but  De  Gollyer's  rep 
utation  as  a  raconteur  was  against  him.  His  listeners 
were  amused,  grateful  and  stubbornly  incredulous,  know 
ing  full  well  from  their  own  experience  that  women  like 
Inga  Sonderson  do  not  exist. 


THE   END 


The  Truth  About  France. 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 


By  OWEN  JOHNSON 

Illustrated  from  drawings  and  photographs.     $1.35  net. 


A  vivid  and  intensely  dramatic  account  of  a  famous  novelist's 
experiences  and  impressions  in  Paris,  at  Rheims  and  Arras,  and 
in  visits  to  the  trenches  at  the  front,  where  he  was  actually  under 
fire.  Included  in  the  volume  is  the  interview  with  General  Joffre 
which  created  a  sensation  when  it  was  published  in  Collier's 
Weekly. 

Inspired  and  written  with  a  fine  swing  and  vigour.  —  Bookman, 
New  York. 

Although  Mr.  Johnson's  is  one  of  many  books  on  the  war,  it 
is  one  with  a  difference.  It  is  a  disclosure  of  "The  Spirit  of 
France,"  and  it  could  not  be  better  named.  France  has  been 
sadly  misunderstood  in  the  past;  she  is  coming  through  the  wrar 
into  her  very  own. —  Boston  Transcript. 

Mr.  Johnson  has  done  an  exceptionally  good  piece  of  war 
reporting  in  his  earlier  chapters  and  in  the  initial  and  final  chap 
ters  has  estimated  successfully  the  unanimity  and  high  patriotism 
that  are  the  forces  behind  the  French  military  power.  —  Spring 
field  Union. 

A  vivid  picture  of  the  war  .  .  .  the  attractiveness  of  this 
book  is  greatly  enhanced  by  the  pictures  which  are  by  Walter 
Hale.  —  Brooklyn  Eagle. 


LITTLE,  BROWN  &  CO.,  PUBLISHERS 

34  Beacon  St.,  Boston. 


New  Uniform  Edition 

LAWBENCEVILLE 
STORIES 

By  OWEN  JOHNSON 


THE  VARMINT 

THE  TENNESSEE  SHAD 

THE  PRODIGIOUS  HICKEY 

Illustrated.      $1.25  net,  each.      3  vols.  boxed,  $3.75  net. 

Faithful  transcripts  of  American  school  life,  full  of 
idiomatic  flavor  and  the  savor  of  fun,  with  a  perfect 
understanding  of  boy  nature,  these  are  books  to  be 
enjoyed  by  all  ages,  from  nine  up  to  ninety. 

Of  "THE  VARMINT,"  George  Ade  says:  "The  only 
real  prep  school  story  ever  written." 

JACK  LONDON:  "An  amazingly  splendid,  delicious 
story." 

BOOTH  TARKINGTON :  "  It 's  a  wonder ...  and  the 
joyful  pathos  of  the  last  instalment  choked  me  "all  up  — 
it  was  true,  and  general,  and  specifically  bully." 

THE  TENNESSEE  SHAD  chronicles!  the  rise  and 
fall  of  the  enterprising  firm  of  Doc  Macnooder  and  the 
Tennessee  Shad,  daring  financial  adventurers. 

THE  PRODIGIOUS  HICKEY  has  been  called  the 
only  book  of  its  kind  since  "Tom  Brown  at  Rugby,"  and 
it  has  what  Tom  Brown  in  a  measure  lacked  —  humor. 
This  may  seem  effusive  to  you  now.  It  will  not  after  you 
have  come  to  know  the  Prodigious  Hickey  and  his  satelites 
—  Hungry  Smeed,  Doc  Macnooder,  Lovely  Mead,  the 
Gutter  Pup,  and  Dink  Stover. 

LITTLE,  BROWN  &  CO.,  PUBLISHERS 

34  BEACON  STREET,  BOSTON 


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